More Poetry
Three days to go, three poems left to write... I dunno.
Tommy
Running, running through the dark night
The wind tugs at her sweat-streaked hair
Almost blind, she stumbles in her flight
Her knees are bruised, her feet are bare
Her salt tears sting her bleeding lips
The gum leaves rustle overhead
Her dress is brown with ruined copper strips
She clings to her bed sheets, dappled red.
Her legs are stained with birthing blood
The bundle she clutches to her chest
Is keening as she struggles through the mud
And lips part, begging at her breast
She has no time. In pain, she staggers on
Imagining the anger in her wake
Her husband’s rage on finding her gone
Her father realising his mistake.
A memory like a blunted blade
Causes her, in grief, to slow
Of Tommy’s face, alone, afraid
When he ran from the house eight months ago
And his sillouette from the blue porch light
And her father going out with his gun
Her young heart torn by the scream in the night
Tommy, oh Tommy, what have I done?
And her wedding day, by her father’s will
And her husband’s joy at the terrible news
And her father’s frown and her mother’s thrill
And the months trying to think of some excuse
Just in case she had been wrong.
And of creeping out to the cattle bay
And screaming, trying to be strong
As she writhed alone on a bed of hay.
Now, wearied, she staggers to a halt
And falls, her hair hanging over her brow
And panting and crying and tasting salt,
Tommy, oh Tommy, where are you now?
The night is split with the baby’s wail
She pulls back the linen to see his face,
As dark as the earth when the moon is pale
She holds him close in a last embrace.
Then down to the water, with one last cry
With a pain as sharp as when he was begun
She lets him go with a kiss goodbye -
Tommy, Tommy… here is your son.
Tommy
Running, running through the dark night
The wind tugs at her sweat-streaked hair
Almost blind, she stumbles in her flight
Her knees are bruised, her feet are bare
Her salt tears sting her bleeding lips
The gum leaves rustle overhead
Her dress is brown with ruined copper strips
She clings to her bed sheets, dappled red.
Her legs are stained with birthing blood
The bundle she clutches to her chest
Is keening as she struggles through the mud
And lips part, begging at her breast
She has no time. In pain, she staggers on
Imagining the anger in her wake
Her husband’s rage on finding her gone
Her father realising his mistake.
A memory like a blunted blade
Causes her, in grief, to slow
Of Tommy’s face, alone, afraid
When he ran from the house eight months ago
And his sillouette from the blue porch light
And her father going out with his gun
Her young heart torn by the scream in the night
Tommy, oh Tommy, what have I done?
And her wedding day, by her father’s will
And her husband’s joy at the terrible news
And her father’s frown and her mother’s thrill
And the months trying to think of some excuse
Just in case she had been wrong.
And of creeping out to the cattle bay
And screaming, trying to be strong
As she writhed alone on a bed of hay.
Now, wearied, she staggers to a halt
And falls, her hair hanging over her brow
And panting and crying and tasting salt,
Tommy, oh Tommy, where are you now?
The night is split with the baby’s wail
She pulls back the linen to see his face,
As dark as the earth when the moon is pale
She holds him close in a last embrace.
Then down to the water, with one last cry
With a pain as sharp as when he was begun
She lets him go with a kiss goodbye -
Tommy, Tommy… here is your son.