Dora Pan had a box
(I never could tell,
that something
wrong about her name.)
not a mailbox, of course
but a strange, primitive type.
either way, hers was more:
communicative and spectacular -
with a lock.
No, it was not a gift box
you see, no woman keeps
a box for gifts
given that
she would, herself, instead commit
to surprising …
I figured the device had carried
Her makeups,
Some longly scents, of figures
In the past
That she’d been no more
Lonely:
Than I have
opened it
Some year or so ...
Frail, black and hazardous
What did you think
Comments
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your poetry is deep you have to look behind the lines to get the real affect, but to write it on the toilet is realy weared lol
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I didn't quite wrote it on the toilet. It's a far taken ''licence poétique''. And along with ''hematospermia'' - it's my kind of bizzare irony or maybe reverse self-irony. And also set - for the fellow literary critiques who would all jump in the Freud wagon at the word ''black box'', ''frail and hazardous'' . Once again, thank you for your comments - this feedback really gets me going (cute Tweety picture by the way ).
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