She could have danced into the next life
the next sweet feast the next galaxy
instead her head is clamped
in a vice of adamantine inertia
a black hole around which
her galaxy turns inexorable

her children have been torn away
her gaze is fixed hard inwards
upon the mythology of self immolation
which fixes her third eye on her own
disaster of broken glass and
shards of ancient explosions

her feet twitch anxious to be going
the circle closes the desert drifts
into her tent the sun is setting
and the wind is rising

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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2 Responses to pivot

  1. stephanie says:

    Wow: powerful and vivid. A very clear and accurate description of depression and illness. The second stanza is particularly beautiful (and dreadful in an intentional way): layers and layers of beauty and horror. Very sad yet stark and hard in a sort of Stone Angel stance (very much like she who inspires it).

    • riverwriter says:

      Yes. Every once in a while, life tiptoes up behind us (or swaggers in front of us obscenely) and smashes us on the head most impolitely. At times like those, it is helpful to have a little cuppa tea close by. I bought some tisane cranberry yesterday, believe it, or dont!

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