I am so sad. The urges waste me in their path. No lessons to return to. Shape me, motherless. Shape the welts out of this vast form. shape the red and the ugly tigers from my willowing base. I cannot capture a smile in myself. I am a woman, under the boughs, bitter as walnut and thorn. You take you take you take. The collars of your shirts know better than my hems, swollen with me, my red thigh blues. The sorest swallows drink from this bath. The stone bath for the birds, fell on me. The stones they crossed my body. the stones they felt my weight, give. give give. Pour. The sun will not miss me. Pour me out. the roots will know me better. the roots will know me by my thirst. The roots will know me by the stiff chords of my heart.
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July 12, 2010 at 6:35 pm
mike
the rawness of your sadness and longing is so very compelling, one of the very few worthwhile online stops – hope you don’t mind that I borrow it sometimes – I think I use your prose as a door to buried and forgotten parts of my psyche.
Thank you for that selfless kindness.
July 13, 2010 at 1:28 am
fionamickunas
Wow, I didn’t know anyone ever stopped by. I feel so happy to have had a visitor! Thank you for coming, you are always welcome in my little birdhouse!
July 13, 2010 at 1:32 am
fionamickunas
I was having a heart to heart with my brother, Mike Dorren just before you left your comment. For a moment I thought you were him.