She swears that she can smell it
day after barren day
the acrid copper scent of blood
that washed her hopes away
She lets her fingers curl around
her slightly cambered abdomen
Yearning for distended flesh
that boasts of life within
She listens to the songs of birds
outside her window pane
Some days she fears their joyful trill
will drive her soul insane
She watches as the colors wash
through summer, autumn… spring
and she cries for every bloody month
till the vibrant hues are tormenting
She tastes the bitter tears of loss
sour on her tongue
and she can’t forget the taste of dreams
she had when she was young
She wishes she could wrap herself
in ice or shrouding fire
and never have a single sense
remind her of desire
Patricia Gibson-Williams
January 2, 2005
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