On Writing

Poem 6 – The Pause

The Pause

she must remember
to stop forgetting
what day it is 
in the grand scheme
that is when the 
blood will flow

there is a wreath of
forget-me-lots circling
her womb – a halo of
pure blues seeping scents
drug-like dulling the 
light that lives in the
hearts of her last few eggs

no, she is not as ripe
nor as nimble as her
younger golden garden 
just reaping a different
kind of radiance

the Pause is scraping
its shard-knuckled fingers
inside her holding place
undoing what is not quite
ready to be undone

one of the trials is timing
36, 42, 51 sleeps between
the reckonings of release
so she forgets that on day
28,35, 46 that her body 
becomes possessed by 
said Pause – her mind
a teeter-totter her heart 
a broken clock her soul
well it hides and don’t 
get her started on the heat 
it is monsoonish 

she must remember to 
stop forgetting who she is
when the blood is preparing
to flow – she is moonbeam 
harvesting        a miracle

2 thoughts on “Poem 6 – The Pause

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