THE WAY MILDRED DIES
I promise to write more soon. I recently printed my thesis and I think half my brain died with it. :) For now, here's a new poem.
THE WAY MILDRED DIES
she picks daisies one at a time
holds them up to her ear and
shakes them Listening for bells
like the head of a church opening its mouth
inside her forehead And what if
she’s gone deaf waiting to hear it?
she knows the world has slipped
away when she wakes in the same
field with a stone tablet hovering
over her chest. It doesn’t mean
she stops straining toward sound
but she has to resort to magic
she wrote me a letter from her
deathbed “I have friends below
the grass here.” It is the strangest thing
I’ve ever seen Ears sprouting up
on pale pink stems around her grave
their curves cupped in all directions
...
THE WAY MILDRED DIES
she picks daisies one at a time
holds them up to her ear and
shakes them Listening for bells
like the head of a church opening its mouth
inside her forehead And what if
she’s gone deaf waiting to hear it?
she knows the world has slipped
away when she wakes in the same
field with a stone tablet hovering
over her chest. It doesn’t mean
she stops straining toward sound
but she has to resort to magic
she wrote me a letter from her
deathbed “I have friends below
the grass here.” It is the strangest thing
I’ve ever seen Ears sprouting up
on pale pink stems around her grave
their curves cupped in all directions
...
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