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

sinkhole


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

4 comments:

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.