I Hear Thunder
I hear thunder trembling on the ground
Lawford's cart is coming down the lane
Contracting into pain
Grumbling like a young girl
Feeling her end of month pain again
Crying in the embrace of her womanhood
Passing like landslide under her feet
The unsoiled moment soiling her grief
Her fertility dripping away
The next generation unfertilized
Screaming at their death in her vein
Wounding her existence
For the fraudulent applause of innocence
For how can I be innocent
If I disobeyed the earth's need for replenishment
If all my fruitfulness coagulated in blood
Suddenly like melted ice is dripping
Forget the blasphemy of the rag
Man's commerce succeeding
While my multiplication withers and die
And the young girl writhing
Snake-like across the contaminated grass
We beg her not to cry
Dulling the knife's edge of pain
Slowing the decomposition of the lining
Into fluid grains grating on the gyrating sore
Bringing her offerings of herbal tea and balm
Subduing her who will not subdue the earth
To the absurdity of postponing my birth
As if when the time for this poem is pass
The poem to follow is the same
Commanded by the thunder we should be ashame
Instead we hide our association
From Lawford's cart, the wheels tumbling
Over the broken stones
Over the callused skin of grim road
Grumbling away into the gloomy evening.
Grumbling
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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