hermitude

she won’t leave the room with the weeping walls
dark gandhi on his knees in an icy shard of light
the hippie bus broken down in the dawn yard

she feels like 12 grain bread dough
tipsy on leavening
sacrificial wine
beaten down and rising
beaten down and rising
sequestered in the solitary airless dark

the rosewater hymns rock across the trenches of her memory
the paint stained fir holds steady thru the hearse of winter
her tears, when they come,
are a glacial melt
a swan floating in the rippling of her silent heart

finally, she comes out

she wonders —
is this the chrystal
calm before the chatterbrain nuclear storm?

her knees in spring mud
she plants her worry stone
where it will never grow
covered tombstone of winters past

wendy shaffer

Advertisements

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: