Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Something of mine

The difficulty with posting poetry on a blog is the lack of formatting capability. No tabs, for example. That bugs me. In any case, here's something I came up with today:

Her

With my mother
There are no dark feminine secrets,
No moon-goddess myths,
No womens' knowledge passed down.
She shares only her hands:

Digging in dark earth
planting impatiens,
Stirring the pot
of soup on the stove,
Brushing my hair
from tangles to silk--
Everything she touches

Made beautiful,
and when I see
what she has done
I hope only
to inherit
her hands.

1 Comments:

Blogger Greg said...

Man, I really like this. I love the opposition of the first and second stanzas. And I bet your mother started crying over it. If I could, and I know I'm being forward, and who the *&^%* am I to give my 2 cents, but I just can't help but think this poem could do without the word "beautiful". Something more tactile, more real, would say so much more. But then again, I just wrote an entire poem with such abstract endings every other line. So who am I. BTW, I love this blog.

5:56 PM  

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