Sunday, May 18, 2008

The Wound

I have a mother wound that will not heal
It hemorrhages loss and hope like a cracked pipe
A house haunted like the clean bones that I pull
One by one from the hole in my arm like
Blood from the veins I’ve tried to open
Like the jellyfish of a dream that empties
Me of bones and teeth and blood and anything
To say help me someone I die of starvation
For a little real something that feels like
Love might now slow the draining death
Of my mother’s need to be better than everyone
Include me, stinking, loud, sucking child of needs

©2008 Peggy Pendleton

4 comments:

thepoetryman said...

Wow... Stinking child... Very moving poem.

DivaJood said...

Powerful imagery, Utah. One day I will tell you my own story - and how I've come to heal. Of course, I didn't begin to heal until after my mother's death, but there is hope.

Stella said...

You are simply amazing, Utah dear.

Cat said...

I feel as if I know of you through your poems, i know some of where you have been and you are so very right. Our history has brought us to who we are - where we are.

Coming from our dark places the art of weaving words into rhythms of their own is magical.

I am so glad you showed me the way here.