SCARS
When the day dawns
and morning spills across the earth
this ground lies naked and broken
a scar like that from the knife
I draw across my palm
to pledge sisterhood to the soil.
Where I cast these small seeds,
lilies will heal over our wounds,
where gravity holds you fast to her heart.
Where I lay my hand
let my life flow down into your death,
the poorest dirt grows rich in knowing us.
Where I spread these petals,
where my knees are stained by the dregs of the sky
the world drinks of you while you sleep.
And in some slight effort to keep you
I will watch the grass grow over
year by year
and I will drink of the world.
© Darcy Stumbaugh, March 27, 2000
Back to Wench in the Works
Back to main page
