November 24, 2008

She who lived inside the trees

Left an undiscovered forest
inside urbane acres, chewed
wormwoods pressed flat,
planed out, finished boxes
lined with her words
negated . . . unadorned.

One tiny room,
below the ground,
rocks and water.
Closed in, locked off
she hid from;
train whistles, sirens,
talk of bodily functions,
hair, touch, mindless chatter,
and the voracious worms;
digging, licking, sucking dry,
chewing, always chewing
new holes.

Lights flashed or floated
the garden died, left
tiny heads undeveloped,
sad little green things,
welcomed back by richness
which betrayed them.

She begged the Mother
of linen, richness, paper,
water, rocks, sad little
green things and rest
to unclasp her fingers . . .

To replace the centers
too green, under-grown,
under-ground with bursts
of light, color and the
worm’s extinction in
the wormwoods.

Fill the gaps,
plaster the planes,
elevate the buried,
make perfect the garden,
unclasp fingers, embrace
the lost girl, the woman
pressed flat, bald, naked
in a word lined box
in urban acres.

—Debra J. Harmes Kurth

Posted by dwaber at November 24, 2008 12:57 PM