Sunday, 18 April 2010

POEM: Textures

On the windowsill

sits a feathery cactus

bulb and a silken candle.

Tidying fly-away braid

neatly beneath headscarf, I watch

yolk gel escape

into a milk jug.

A minute or so later,

heated gloop becomes

spongy eggs.

Beside the pan: creased silver

foil envelops flesh of freshly

baked bread.

For the meal later:

rice grains washed twice

in sieve, gravelly cr-ra-cr-ra

grating wired nerves while a few

grains scurry down


beneath tap

water, stream of cold

and smooth like the smooth sheet

which wrapped slothful curves - tangled

between thighs and whys? - the night

before in my lover’s den.

Catherine Mark


Cynthia said...

Hi Catherine, Wonderful the way
you expertly braid this morning's
breakfast with last night's loving.

And you are right about the constant reading, writing, critique, of poetry/prose how this
refines one's writing.

You economy of words is admirable
and this is what I strive for.

lissa said...

certainly lots of imaginary that can be touch & feel even in words

cheryl said...

So many textures and thought Cath. I read along thinking what a nice Sunday breakie then oooooo. I like this !

Ms. XX said...

I loved the twist at the end.