Ali Scattergood, Remember, 2013
At the Core
Salty waters rise
until they flood.
But you’re no longer
simply flesh and blood,
something new grows
roots, begins to bud,
awaits the fall of
cleaner rain.
(The sky dispenses
answers, though it won’t explain.)
Your belly glows, your
body has forgotten its refrain.
And it’s no longer
blood,
but something
moonlit pulsing in those veins.
You bow your head
and let your toes sink deep into the mud,
containing deep
inside a thing you can’t contain.
No comments:
Post a Comment