The other one

Standard

Lance Sheridan

All night she moved along the brim of sleep,
Like a stone in a wheat field, the ground was hard.
Moon, shadows, crows that withering sky.
Her bed wore the stain of darkness,
The light wormed back into her mother’s womb.
Small as a broken doll in a dress of innocence,
She dreamed how imperfect she was, and she was.

Against the bare, whitewashed walls, her room
Cramped in a poorhouse, she heard siblings crowd
In a starving for sleep; footsteps multiplying into
The dream chamber, bodies aching for a slumber.
The statued grain like pillars, her twelve slow steps
Towards a windowed figure, heavy as a ghost;
Six feet to a grave, a shovel for the dirt—

Her mother in black, poised in some old tragedy,
Read from the purgatory book; like a good parent,
She swallowed in the darkness. Embraced the
One who never did, flesh and some…

View original post 16 more words

5 thoughts on “The other one

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.