Saturday, 30 January 2010

re POEM 7

... feeling physically, emotionally and mentally fatigued today... it's been an ugly stressful week at work... anyway, I still managed a poem today, trying to maintain my momentum :)

Windmill

Blood drips
off knife edge
with clarity
in sleep’s windmill,

a screen of smoke apparent,

smokescreen
or revelation of what?

silent red
weeps;

longings
lost in hours
given to sorting out
recycling bins, de-cluttering
cupboards, washing out stains
on beddings, ironing out
wrinkles in waning relationship

circumcised between crisp linen.

If only dripped blood
did not stain sheets,

if only I could google
our memory map
to find the point of schism.

It is as if the bloodied drops
have accumulated to form
a pool the span of this windmill.

Catherine Mark

1 comment:

Christine Robinson said...

"to find the point of the schism"

That's the question, isn't it? The central conundrum that always comes up. When, where, at what defined moment?

Thank you for posting.

Christine