Postcard Poems – A Terrible Thirst

Skidegate Pole Emily Carr,  Vancouver Art Gallery

Skidegate Pole
Emily Carr,
Vancouver Art Gallery

He sucks on his rage

like aged whiskey

contempt spewing

over the lap of the world,

a festering swill

of some dark

(or tender) thing

turned bad

at the bottom

of the heart’s barrel.

Even now

alone

in the burning house

he stokes the fire.

Even now

scalded

This hand again.

-wrensong

Advertisements

About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in Poetry, postcard poems and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s