Thursday, November 20, 2014

Headline Poem 11/20/14 -- She was

She was 

She was a women 
with eyes 
poised, aged wisely, 
but hard. 
She birthed babies in bathtubs
  and frightened scarecrows 
away. 
On an island covered in 
Italian storms, she 
gained and lost control. 
She nailed down desires
like drifting, 
too-free leaves, floating aimlessly 
in wind without direction, 
and motherhood that came too soon. 
She learned to reopen arms
she swore she'd never open again. 
She breathed for years through 
streets and celebrations,
and losses 
that shook and rumbled 
her stoic soul. 
She was the concrete jungle. 
She was the master bearer of secrets and misery past. 
But when
pain swooped in like vulgars 
on a line, 
she passed 
away, 
and lay
floating above those she left behind. 
Whispers follow them 
down hallways 
now,
          I'll never really be gone...