Sunday, August 26, 2012

Keeper


Broad and immaculate
I rest here
with my whole body,
my woman's body
moulded from labour pains,
warm primal clay,
a keeper kiln-fired
in the furnace of my existence.

Behind closed eyes
I see them come and go again
the women, the children,
and the lost
those who would nestle
between my breasts,
drown themselves in my flesh,
or shed their tears
in the bowl of my lap.

Men, boys, young gods
small of hip
or rough-hewn as I am
though hewn from granite
all the same.

Where is the one
who is not without sorrow?
 This is why I console all those
who seek my consolation.





3 comments:

  1. So very moving! This poem expresses the inexpressible, articulates a longing which we all at times feel. Emma, you have reached far beyond any religion, beyond even any conventionally applied spirituality, to reach the heart of a simple truth.

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  2. Absolutely beautiful. Each line rises from the page and appears to pause for a moment to offer the reader an image filled with meaning and mystery. I love this poem!

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  3. Dear Hawkwood and Joseph, your reactions mean a lot to me, thank you so much.

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