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Monday, November 26, 2012

Poem of the Week: A Form of Healing, Rose Mary Boehm

the house
windows boarded
oxidized hinges
rotting wood
matter responds to time

behind frayed curtains
rectangular eyes
stairs sag
towards a chamber
where her secrets
are kept in bolted

across the yard
rusty swings squeak
hinged on the north-southern

a dark shadow reaches languidly
towards his outstretched hand
there’s weeping
they found
his sister swinging
from a noose

can’t leave now
the eyeless weep
groping in darkness
like he
they are
silently picking
at old scabs

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