The early bird snags the blackberry
When morning whirs past an open stairway.
I’ve seen the black needle,
Which my mother uses to stitch a cloud.
My face feels a detachment,
And also a lick of wind
Showing a beautiful array of
Mystic bugs, devouring.
To jump the cliff!
To voice the fears!
My mother will stitch my heart.
Dissolving now, I sit still with the spiders.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by RinRin

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.