Before I get to today's lovely poem, I'd like to ask all of you for submissions. I only have one poem left for next week and that's it. If I don't get any more work, the Poem of the Week feature will have to be postponed and possibly trashed if submissions continue to dwindle. Please submit or pass this on to your writing friends. I won't delay you from reading this piece anymore.
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for Jane Kenyon
The moment she grounded,
her blood felt
red, hot, and throbbing,
until it was tampered with.
Wondered what was gushing
through those long, winding, narrow tunnels.
Felt transparent.
Snaking under her skin,
bubbling through burnt flesh,
running chemical.
When the pain eased
she dared again
to draw in the scent
of the honeysuckle,
touch the hot scones,
lean back in her chair.
But she knew.
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