Daily Archives: July 7, 2015

Summer 2015

The thorn in my thumb hurts

Like the drag on a cigarette, nicotine

prickling, the protest of clean lungs, like

a needle in a vein


Who is she, this mother of ghosts?

Collector of their stories, teller of their tales?

I thought she was gone so long ago, but she

was only waiting to be needed again.

She is needed.

She is here.

She is vulnerable and in that vulnerability, powerful.

She is silent, but she speaks.

She speaks.

She’s speaking now.


Filed under poetry