birthmom

Submitted by Richard Craven on February 3, 2007 - 13:00.

cool, wet, black bough
shrieking in the winter wind
the window waits
chilled, frosty, like a beer

peeping through, three eyes anew
infant plans have yet to hatch
if there's blood upon the shell
let it seep through, renew

hibernating, vitalizing
not vibrating, not disguising
sitting still for all to see
the peeping eyes: one, two, three

and there they sit in reverie
trying to fathom what they see
the banshee screaming like a tree
delivered them, so lovingly

 

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( categories: Richard Craven | Poetry )