Lament by Iris Brossard

Windwood by J.S. MacLean


                                                      All day hidden in the table
                                                      I’ve trembled through their songs
                                                      The hum of smiling knives
                                                      The marimba of forks
                                                      That insist on waking me up
                                                      The drugged spoons that ring in their sleep

                                                      Cowered beneath a ladle hoping they won’t find me
                                                      When they open the drawer
                                                      And slam the metal city on my head

                                                      After all, I have a right to be nowhere
                                                      They have no sympathy for the lost
                                                      A splatter of bad luck on their wavering vision

                                                      Don’t they realize I risk death
                                                      Climbing their slippery darkness?
                                                      Each day, it’s harder to find food.
                                                      I’m forced to lick the buttermilk
                                                      Off their ears at night

                                                      I’m just waiting for the doors to swim to me
                                                      I’ll know them by the splashing in the clock
                                                      And will float on the numbers to my transformation

                                                      Iris Brossard  

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