To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
The Oracle 4 tablespoons of blood, 1 birthday, 7 tears. Flushed down the drain. Invisible. Forgotten. She tried to put what had happened that morning in its proper perspective. Reduce it to its essentials. A compact rationalization. She had the answers completely scripted before the sun had fully risen: SELF: Miscarriage. Bad seed. Never meant to be. DOCTOR: Low hormone levels. Spontaneous discharge. MOTHER: Don’t give up hope. HUSBAND: You know that I still love you. The words were disconnected from her, echoes weighing heavy in her mind. As she searched for the proper explanation to carry her through the day, she remembered the dream she had the night before. An apron was hanging in a tree like a lost kite. Nearby, a woman was swimming on her back in an abandoned quarry. Drifting from the palms of her hands were tealeaves, waiting to form a readable pattern with the command of her own breath. |
Additional Notes:
I found out that "tealeaves" can be either one word or two. I opted for "tealeaves."
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!