Hey y'all. Experiencing some technical difficulties in the form of some blog-xiety (it's a word in my world). So am gonna take a wee breather and I'll be back in a bit. :)
Anyhoo - here's a Wednesday poem of gorgeousness. On a Tuesday night, as per usual.
On The Edge
A blade in the bed of a child
will slice up nightmares
into simpler hungers.
But a knife is a dangerous gift
girl brave enough to be crazy
you may never read this poem again
so commit it like sin
or a promise to the place
where poetry arms your beauty
with a hundred knives
some mined in the hills above Whydah
for a good-looking Creek
on the run.
The rhythms of your long body
do not yet move in my blood
but the first full moon of this year
is a void of course moon
I dream I am precious rock
touching the edge of you
that needs
the moon's loving.
Lorde, Audre. Our Dead Behind Us: Poems. London: Norton, 1986.
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