Sunday, October 26, 2008

feather bed

she sinks slowly into
her bed of
cancer, ignoring
the pain that is-

looking only at the delicate
feathers wedged
in her organs for protection

white silken plumes
translucent shaft pushing
into tissue

whatever was, isn't now

every day is new

so she can listen
to wind and song
float on the breeze

make dinner for her daughter

even if she has to sit
cutting board on the floor
to chop the vegetables

she knows that now
that's what to do

9 comments:

Jo said...

Beautiful, Holly. Really beautiful.

Scot said...

here's to all women! i have seen this trait, time and time again

holly said...

yes, this is for a dear, dear friend

Rethabile said...

It's for Lydia? It's nice.

Nathan said...

The image of the cutting board on the floor is amazing. This is an incredible poem.

christine said...

Very soft sound here, an understated, quiet beauty.

I agree with Nathan,that cutting board image is very clear and poignant.

holly said...

It's actually for Lydia's mother...I didn't know how to phrase that line I had with Lydia's name in it, so I took it out.

Thank you Rethabile, Nathan, and Christine. The cutting board thing is something she has actually done, if that tells you anything about this woman.

Julie said...

This is so nice and brings tears to my eyes. I love the cutting board, too. It makes me think of my grandmother. I also agree with Christine about the quiet beauty. That's the perfect way to describe that lovely quiet voice. Awesome poem, Holly! Oh...and Scot gets big brownie points this week for his comment:)

holly said...

I agree Julie, Scot totally gets brownie points...thanks for your lovely comment too.