We'Ve Crowded Out the Angels
The first needles were of bone or wood,
perhaps inspired by the pine's green ones.
People sewed skins together,
shaped them around their chests,
their arms, their legs
to hug the warmth
to their bodies.
When the white giants
grudgingly began to step back
into the howling hell
where they came from,
needles became bronze
and later iron;
people learned
to weave threads together,
crosswise, up and down
to make cloth.
Now needles are shiny steel;
they embroider flowers,
became hollow to drink blood,
to stream drugs into arteries.
Now they bridge
sickness and health,
life and death,
as we crowd each other,
dancing awkwardly
on the points of needles.
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.
