Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Rootless' by Jennifer Matthews | страница 20

Rootless

The poppy’s lips promised escape,
a birth in reverse,
its roots curled like beckoning fingers.
I plucked it, shook free
the clinging dirt
and the ground ripped open for me.
Through the gash a dark man came
and I dove into his river
to my marriage bed.
Neglect wintered the world behind me,
above me. My twin-mother’s grief
took every living thing hostage.
Under world, I sucked pulpy seeds,
nails hooked in the rind of my husband’s fruit,
juice seeping in streams down my chin.
Witnesses would return
to advise her
this was no kidnapping.

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