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"Woman Circling"
When women die, their bones
are hollow like a bird's,
wind playing them, holes bored
like a flute, flying.
Cleaning beds. Carbolizing means taking
extra care with the mattress,
running a wet foam cloth over it
until the plastic squeaks like a starving mouse.
Do you love him? In your senility, you chased him.
You lay, baited, around corners,
ear tuned to his shuffling step and, when he came,
you grinned your toothy, witless grin.
"What a dirty little man."
Your home is twenty feet as the crow flies.
You take an hour, your sagging nylon toes
pushing you backwards in your wheelchair
down crazy, circling halls, eyes stained.
YOU ARE READING
An Alchemy of Words
PoetryA collection of my poems, both old and new. Notable Rankings: 1 in #poetsofwattpad (2021-06-01) 1 in #poetryclub (2021-06-01) 1 in #poetrycommunity (2021-06-18) 1 in #slampoetry (2022-04-13) 1 in #wattpadpoets (2022-04-13) 1 in #wattpadpoet (2022-04...
