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

hurts

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.

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7 Comments

Filed under poetry

7 responses to “Summer 2015

  1. Elizabeth

    Yow. Chills.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ilene

    Beautiful…really makes me look deep inside myself 💗

    Liked by 1 person

  3. dianamunozstewart

    This is filled with dynamite. Power. Vulnerability. You gave me chills.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Carol Lovekin

    Words are the medicine
    Write the prescription
    Decide the dose
    Soothe the wounds

    Love in abundance, cariad… xXx

    Liked by 1 person

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