Aislinn Wilson

The Woman

and the woman I'm becoming is coming at me with a knife
and she's gutting my memories as I reach for the scythe
and Lord knows I'll always hate who I've been
retrospect's a canker sore when you've festered in sin
and she's looking for my disease, it's origin I can't tell
you can't sift cantarella out of wishing wells
and just as fire clears vomit from a cast iron pot
i repent to the good Lord who'll cast off my rot
the prophets at the bus stop whisper in tongues
Jeremiah stands at the payphone his aching head hung
and we weep

Comments2



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.