Poezie

Scarecrow

1 min lectură·31 august 2010

Mediu

Who knows

but that your infuriating head

might only be full of fervent questions

where once there was desire, feverish,

like a summer swamp-born disease;

but now, spoiled hay.

And you will slave like a mindless thing

in your grim Germanic winter garden

full of stolid brassicas,

oblivious as a mummified man

without a pulse-

crucified like a mummers\' messiah,

but grey and sour,

tainted with mould and its toxic spores.

Should I try to blindly unsleave

your outstretched arms,

pinioned, as they are,

against the extremes

of leaving and longing,

or clumsily unsheath the torso,

now winter-flaccid and over-stuffed

with last summer\'s straw,

all that I would find would be

two stakes

held together with an X of twine

where, once, the belly-knot

of your ripe fixation

was bound.

024.585

Philomena van Rijswijk. “Scarecrow.” Atelier, Poezie.ro, https://poezie.ro/atelier/philomena-van-rijswijk/poezie/13952023/scarecrow

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