A response to "The Female Body" by Margaret Atwood
Next door
lies sweat dried clothes
topping dusty worn shoes
torn to bits from these bumpy streets
She screams cracking screens
regretting the bloody mess
but loving the real feel
addicted to going
withdrawal and we’d know
like dropped inspiration
from the clouds
into snow
so cold like everyone here
and we all own jackets
Neighboring a witness
to battered bodies
frosted with sweet lickin’ fist
coming at
coming fast
memories remember
blending with trash and broken glass
awkward awakenings left to be swept away
I am reminded that forgotten has not happened
At least not for her
resistance towards an existance
being is real is a realization
things really happened.
No comments:
Post a Comment