Friday, April 03, 2009

NaPoWriMo [Cont.]

My mother would be a falconress
and I her breaking wing
bloodied at her soul
the doubling of us becomes.

She cannot blame me.
For it is her that taught me
to claw and claw
and request at the world.

Mother, bend at my will.
I, who, so decidedly do
and do not love you.
I do cripple your wing.

Prepare for flight [singing]
the torn open
cling to the hem.
You will crack at the middle
the scratches still upon you
in between the living and dying
a grasp at the blurring earth.

Stillness not escaping
my hand reaches into
only my reflection is mirrord
upon the mirror of her
I glow in her space
little etching that I am
little burning

The damage at the wrist is mine
want and want.

* I hope I don't embarrass myself. This is a nutty attempt at a Duncan/Antony combo. Note: because Mom reads the blog; the mother & child here are me & jeffrey.

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