Saturday, November 29, 2014

Tender Brevity

"Strumming My Pain" graphite on paper by Cristina Querrer

You must think I am a woman
who is mad about armor
the redwood tree that 
rips itself from its roots 
to feel its pain kind

I am a woman who is mad
about the languid, plunging
deep and hard into the earth kinds
not paper thin things 
that depend on gust of wind
to get anywhere

I need a feel me kind
of weight, heavy weight
keep up with my steps
my sighs
my sobs
Not the faux luxe
the shine
slick silk, surface stuff

For that fleshy armor
the one that yearns 
to be lustrous, tenacious 
and glorious is stock
and tender brevity
is forever lost on them

Give me the marrow
the center of things where
endless streams of blood
runs through imaginative veins
I shall stand steadfast there

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