Sunday, January 07, 2007

Stuck


Creatures hold me tight to winter;
even the ducks at the lake this morning
dragged my heart through worm-filled puddles.
Tree roots rip from the earth
leaving holes for the living to get stuck in--
our heels always caught in those soft depressions,
locked there, reminding us:
you are left behind.

1 comment:

  1. Yes, Quiet Girl... The Swamps of Sadness will always have room for you... You and EVERYOOOONE!!! (thunder cracks) MWAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

    And as those ethereal vines of the underworld cling to your larynx like barnacles and shackle your ankles deep in the mud, and the last of your strength wisps out through the topmost hairs of your lilting head, you shall...

    eh... nevermind. Nice poem. :)

    Soapy

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