Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I have left the night to the moon
And stars, said, Marina, the owls

Sing to me in my childlike dreams,
The spiders creep into my hair and

Make me scream. The coats in the
Closet make gestures with their arms,

The shadows on the walls dance to
The moon’s light. My bed is adrift

On the seas of doubt, the pillow steals
My breath, the dolls about me, await

My death, they nod their heads to the
Rhythm of my heart. My mother read

Me stories to aid my sleep; the words
Stole into my head and took root there

Amongst images of death and dark and
The wounding of my unfolding womb.

My mother’s lover slips between the
Sheets, his eyes focus, on my developing

Breast, his fingers move crablike and
Give no rest. I left the moon and stars

To the night, he has closed the curtains
And leaves no hint of love or care or light.

The wounding of my unfolding womb.

wow, love the way this line especially and the whole poem shapes my mouth in it's sadness.

well done!

My mother’s lover slips between the
Sheets,

bloody brilliant poem>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


when a sister is wounded
what is a brother to do
I lived in dread of being my mother's lover's son

please pardon the personal ramble
shamble

Thank you, all very much.