by Allan Haslinds
How dare you
come to me now in this place
and in this time?
When I fell sick yet again,
I dropped that cracked and dried bucket
into the stone-lined dimness.
What right have you,
to put bone finger on my chest of flesh,
crowing of times that neither of us controlled?
Hauling hand-over-hand on the manila,
fighting back the recoil in my stomach
as I pulled the sodden carcass up,
cloudy-eyed and reeking of unmentionable?
Isn't it a moral offense to ignore
that I banished you from my presence
so many minds ago.
I draped the sticky wetness with linen
and interred you in the soft earth
at the foot of our rowan.
How is it you come to me now, shroud torn
and cast off, mocking and throwing
aspersions of neglect?
Posted on 07/10/2003
Copyright © 2021 Allan Haslinds
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Mara Meade on 07/10/03 at 10:10 PM|
Whew! There's some indignation here... very well said. Succinct, to the point, graphic... remind me never to cross you.....
|Posted by Maryellen Lebeda-Parra on 07/10/03 at 10:31 PM|
I have to think on what to say here and come back ... really.
|Posted by Jeanne Marie Hoffman on 07/11/03 at 08:29 PM|
I read this before and wanted to comment so badly, but I had no idea how to put it. I think James Byrne puts it very well! I like the third stanza the best.
|Posted by Kitty Ness on 07/12/03 at 08:23 AM|
Sincerely, Emotional Poet #34,528.