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Twelve

December 21, 2012

army six

Remember when I hated you?
In that impossible, childish way that only brings forth tears.
Black seed you.
Dripping oil and taking root in my bed.
Watered well and climbing like ivy.

I wished you away.
Hot little hands wringing you from this world.
Writhing and knocking toys from the bed.
But I was the one drawn.
Like a grain or a poppy.
This was to become a recurring motif.

Under my skin and against my will.
A dog in the corner.
But I always was a wilful child.
Prone to stepping twice into traffic.
Smugly flicking my fingers into the candle.
Whilst the whole house burns.

In my blood.
You are in my blood.
Ay, be, oh.
I can type it over.
Stand repeating.
And in my children’s blood.
Meaning piles on meaning.
God forgive me, you’ll be in my children’s blood.

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From → Poetry

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