A Day Late: new poem work

Where Her Scars


She moves the cough into her elbow
turns the cushions into tiles
which blend with the crust beneath
the Ducan Phyfe among all those tiny O’s,

she thinks bagel seeds, with a place to grow,
gone. She faces the clock with a face, grabbing
the sweep of the second hand. The missed glass
slivers wink, all the beauty of broken, irreparable.

She resists her desire to line the driveway
with china and used soup bones. Her dark
nostalgia sings in a toddler’s voice, spatters
the walls. Running out, she drags kite tails, running

to ground, her heart turned a garden:
basil, tomatoes and passion flowers.




3 thoughts on “A Day Late: new poem work

  1. Terry England August 28, 2013 / 6:00 PMAug

    Beautiful. I love the images. How soft it is. How painful too.

    Sent from my iPhone

  2. J.R.D. Skinner August 28, 2013 / 6:00 PMAug

    I’ve yet to untangle this one entirely, but I’m enjoying the bramble.

    • ammiblog August 28, 2013 / 6:00 PMAug

      To be honest, I am in a bit of a revision muddle. Like walking through a swamp, yet, enjoying that my words confound me too!

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