Home

Issues

Contributors

Submissions

Contact

Links

Take Action

PoetryDepot

    

   

Louise Nayer

---

Homelands
 

Mother,
this is not what you dreamt for me.
I am scared of this route
into the heart.

I walk on the ice
barefoot,
listen to water burn my feet
cold as your stoic throat
that tightens before you sigh.

I was November in your body,
Do you see how my leaves change color?

I am scared of the scars
on your face and hands.
They are real below the eyes.

You blush them away in a field of poppies.

Do you know that I still say
the Lord's Prayer at night--
It is faithful, this prayer.

The sheep run too quickly.
I cannot count them.
They will not unseal my lips.

How can I tell you
I am afraid,
that the bronze girl
playing tennis in the New Hampshire woods
is scared of the tall pines,
that the wind is a knife.

I crash into trees with the speed of a sinner
and tempt the raw bark.
This darkness is also my home.

My skin is light,
my eyes are dark ravens.
Mother, I revolve in these woods,
this delicate Chinese lithograph
and dream of the conventional,
the uninterrupted.

And someday I will see you cry.
The water will flow from your eyes
and you will see
me, your daughter.

I will not drown.
You can collapse on me.
 




Copyright (c) Louise Nayer, 2005. All rights reserved.
 
 

Sign up for Abalone Moon's Newsletter

 

 

 

 

Web Design by Velene Campbell

 

Thanks to Peter  Bunce at Techsolutions for all computer related issues