She Beggar
She riddened herself
Into a shaft of night,
Her lips ironed into a frozen grin
By the cold.
Her mossy stockings gaped
At the heels,
And a jersey dripped about her;
A loose cobweb of wound red wool.
Her creak;as if the final
From a strangled heart.
Frost waxed fingers tipped a candle
As if it was graven from a stick of sulfur,
While one leg
Desperately kneaded a dead other.
Her lips smeared mist
And stirred as if to melt.
"Buy the candle," she said,
Offering it dryly
Like the rosary of a beggar's religion.
If only the pocket of the heart
Was of worldly worth,
Then a man starved and shoeless
Would be a nugget well polished for hell.
But the wings of this tide
Beat the hapless way,
And a pout such as yours
May forever be suppled with hay.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
