Sunday, December 26, 2010

something like the quiet



Cigarette butts in mum's 'garden'.




You look so lovely lying in the bath
like Francesca drowning herself and catching it all on film
some distanced tranquil quality
I haven't seen your flesh for some time
(though it is, in parts, my own)
it looked more hospitable than before

Please stay here for a while
don't get out yet please
don't get out yet
I want to sit on the cold tiled floor and talk to you
it's been so many years since I saw you this young
stained with age's wisdom
occasionally I feel guilt that I won't hold you -- but not often
and your body is functioning properly
underwater, under
my vision, I wish it stretched beneath the sun-worn land of your face
but it doesn't

Mother my heels are hot with fear and
you, in your solitude,
have befriended old hot habits

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