... 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:
"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
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