(Inter)National Poetry Month, Day Sixteen
The Last Night in Mithymna
Wind heaving in the trees.
My room quiet and warm.
Me on a thin mattress
looking at the full moon.
The sky black around Her face.
The trees a different black
beneath. Content at last
with this world that matches
my life inside and out.
Heave and renewed heave
inside and out,
and the gentleness.
Lying alone in a cotton slip
at ten of the night in July
and a bare bulb hanging down
turned on. My bare feet
warm where they cross
at the ankle.
The cloth over the broken window
swells and goes flat
and swells again.
- Linda Gregg
This entry was originally posted at http://liseuse.dreamwidth.org/744020.html. You can comment here or you can comment there using OpenID or your DW account.
Wind heaving in the trees.
My room quiet and warm.
Me on a thin mattress
looking at the full moon.
The sky black around Her face.
The trees a different black
beneath. Content at last
with this world that matches
my life inside and out.
Heave and renewed heave
inside and out,
and the gentleness.
Lying alone in a cotton slip
at ten of the night in July
and a bare bulb hanging down
turned on. My bare feet
warm where they cross
at the ankle.
The cloth over the broken window
swells and goes flat
and swells again.
- Linda Gregg
This entry was originally posted at http://liseuse.dreamwidth.org/744020.html. You can comment here or you can comment there using OpenID or your DW account.