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| "Somewhere outside some village," by Prashant Prabhu |
I.
The eye hurries and hurtles and rolls downhill to gobble it all up
It: the green proof that places
are alive and that we can trim and locket up
their tendrils
All: the Great Sweeping Up
the room that the broom invents
with wishful walls
Up: down
inside A secret-clasping place
which we know is called a safe
II.
There is beauty here and I am anxious to claim it
There is pain here and I am anxious to reject it
but not by pretending it does not exist
Where has my disembodied voice gone
Now when I speak all I can say is baby boy
and ache and love and worry
Voice what has happened to you
Flower sounds like terror and power
just like it always has
and more than it ever has before
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ReplyDeleteI've been away from the internet for awhile, and looks like you have too. But...I just read this and wanted to say to you--This Is Beautiful. I definitely remember life with babies fills all the spare spaces in a mom. But I remember it as a time with its own particular beauty too. One gift is in balancing baby life with your once separate self, your own self's words. And the hardest trick, of course, is that life with children is always wobbly and off balance. Wishing you the best, and joy in wobbling around.
ReplyDeletewonderful wonderful wonderful work Thanks for sharing.
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