Tuesday, January 9, 2018

A Poem

for my mother's slow wasting
for pain blooming black
for girls full of ugly and spewing

for the nights I don't sleep
and the days I don't dream
and the mean honesty between

for something like silence
silence like something
vacant, vacant and aching

for my fears held close and dear
close and dear
as lovers

Previously published in Bop Dead City

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

12 comments:

Fireblossom said...

Bop Dead City...what a great name.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

I can really feel these lines, Mama Zen, especially the "pain blooming black" and the honesty between the not sleeping and not dreaming. A very real poem, just the way life is.

said...

1, 3, 4, 2

My favorite stanzas, in order.

Rommy said...

A night without a dream is one thing. But a day without one, that hurts.

Yvonne Osborne said...

Ah, yes...for the nights I don't sleep when fears loom out of proportion and take on depth! Your opening line took me back in time, but a time not so long ago.

brudberg said...

The crown is the conclusion... we do collect pain like precious pearls don't we?

Susie Clevenger said...

We pearl ourselves with pain... It is so hard living through the bleak times. I feel I need to give this poem a hug.

grapeling said...

i stopped dreaming, day or night, long ago. or sleeping, much. so, this hits square center (though I don't know nothing on the pain women go through)

Sioux Roslawski said...

MZ--The second stanza is especially powerful...

Sanaa Rizvi said...

The pain in this poem is so fresh and raw that tugs at the heart. Especially resonate with; "for the nights I don't sleep and the days I don't dream and the mean honesty between." Beautifully executed.

Kerry O'Connor said...

The dark days need poems more than bright days. Sadly, I find my words curl up and die. Your poem speaks for many of us, I am sure.

Magaly Guerrero said...

A poem for every hurt and every love, for all we have and all we loss, a poem for life and death and all the rest.

Love this.