it was in that summer
on the picket line between childhood and adulthood
that i knew blue
and you stole it from me
like a greedy magpie
to add to your nest of memories -
something flashy here
old strands of linen there
and my blueness
hastily woven into your history
as you bed someone new.
nights reveal hushed whispers
and "sad" stories
and i,
the vehicle,
the gasoline,
which you surreptitiously light
in the inky darkness,
burn your wings
and cry "martyr".
on the picket line between childhood and adulthood
that i knew blue
and you stole it from me
like a greedy magpie
to add to your nest of memories -
something flashy here
old strands of linen there
and my blueness
hastily woven into your history
as you bed someone new.
nights reveal hushed whispers
and "sad" stories
and i,
the vehicle,
the gasoline,
which you surreptitiously light
in the inky darkness,
burn your wings
and cry "martyr".
3 comments:
Dear Sun Woman,
I am SO thrilled to see you writing in the first person now. It gives a different sound to your words. How does it feel to you??
beautiful
dear margaret -- oh, it feels good! the poetry is deepening now and it's interesting to see what gestates to harvest.
dear yoyeti -- thank you.
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