A thorn in her side.

If I was the poet with a thorn in my side,
I was; I brought another drop
	from the gardens on these hands
		and this body of stone;

	I ripen
			in her arms
		I bleed in the wind to hide
	like a coward; the moon-born bedsheets call,
	twisting vines in the thorns of youth
		until I was the woman; if yet I remember
			the gathered words in the dirt
				I smeared them over and over
			onto my knees; a burnout sun,
				a poor daughter in her white lies
			to push in either death or pride,		
whichever comes first
	I never knew it well; 
I’m only what I came to be in the summer
death-bed, a void in the wind simply eating all the flowers; 
my eyes closed
I didn’t remember falling asleep

the opus curves around gravitas
 	an open-mouthed voice to gardens swimming through my dreams; 
wasn’t I 
	always billowed within my lies	
I feast then for the rock-roots of childhood
instead of the thorn.
			
© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved

Written for the dVerse MTB circular prompt 3/25/21.

Posted In,

39 Comments

  1. Lucy, as ever an intriguing layered write with lots to like: here’s a few – ‘I ripen’ is a terrific line all on its own – ambiguous but also proud in its isolation. I also liked ‘the opus curves around gravitas’ – a sly wry line – and, if I take your meaning – the poem is optimistic – saying look beyond those thorns that have hurt you, to the things – like childhood – that nurture and anchor you. Great stuff.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. I so love, love the hopeful note in this richly woven circular poem, Lucy 😀 Especially; “I didn’t remember falling asleep/the opus curves around gravitas/an open-mouthed voice to gardens swimming through my dreams.”💝💝

    Liked by 4 people

  3. This poem has a wonderfully gyrating shape, Lucy! I love the way it circles on a thorn, the islated line ‘I ripen’, the phrase ‘moon-born bedsheets’ and the image of the ‘the gathered words in the dirt’ being smeared onto knees. These lines made me think of the end of girlhood and the beginning of womanhood:
    ‘I’m only what I came to be in the summer
    death-bed, a void in the wind simply eating all the flowers;
    my eyes closed
    I didn’t remember falling asleep’.

    Liked by 4 people

  4. I really love this–definitely one of my favorites of yours! I keep reading it over, as it seems to reveal more each time. I love the repetition and the changing line lengths and punctuation. The realization that there is strength within, perhaps we all have thorns and roots.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. This is marvellous Lucy, I feel I could read it over and over and get something new from it each time, so perfect for a circular poem, because it makes you come back for more!

    Liked by 4 people

  6. Oh Lucy I swear you are from another time or you are channeling someone from the past. This is so beautiful and I find I am reading it over and over ☺️💕 This was my favorite part:

    “I ripen
    in her arms
    I bleed in the wind to hide
    like a coward; the moon-born bedsheets call,
    twisting vines in the thorns of youth
    until I was the woman; if yet I remember
    the gathered words in the dirt”

    Exquisite! ❤️

    Liked by 4 people

      1. Aww, thank you Lona.

        Funny enough, “Alone” is one of my favorite Poe poems—haven’t read it in a long time so now I’ll go for a re-read. Thank you for that and for your lovely feedback and support. It’s always appreciated. ❤️❤️

        Liked by 2 people

  7. Such wonderful lines you create Lucy, and woven together so fantastically, to create verse of a dreamland of hard, soft, dark, light, frightening, alluring, erotic, neurotic, sad, joyful, and more — all the textures of that place the mind wonders, when loosed to take its own journey. I love your stuff from silver-white, to vivid red — and every hue and shade that unfolds in the reading.

    Liked by 3 people

  8. I think it does sound like a thorny childhood here, and “always billowed within my lies” sounds like even in the sun you still feel hidden with the lies. I’m not sure I feel all the optimism others do in this piece, but maybe a coming to terms with it. This poem is certainly intriguing and full of thought provoking imagery!

    Liked by 4 people

  9. The comfort of childhood, the thorns of youth when poetry blooms most blood-red, and tge white lies of adulthood — yet but for the poetry, it’s the cradle one longs for, perhaps the cradle of words themselves. What wonderful writing, Lucy! You’ve outdone yourself.

    Liked by 4 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s