There are no second chances
and there are hardly any first ones--
we slip out from between the legs of our mothers
and wonder why we are
alone
and yet, we go on chopping
wood for the fire, knitting
the mittens, milking
the cows, feeding
our children,
and at the end we are surrounded by them
on a fluffy mattress covered in lace and pink flowers
and one of them holds our wrinkled hand,
careful not to displace the catheter,
catechisms flowing from the blue lips
of the first son
as he looks behind himself at the clock on the wall
and his soul vanishes,
he is dead.
before you.
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/41a6um/coins/ https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/413i29/self_obscured/
Posted Jan 16, 2016, 11:36 PM UTC
I like this poem a lot, the dark turn at the end. It gave me a bit of a shiver actually, I wasn't expecting that. Well done.
thanks! shivers are always my goal :)