A Woman In Ruins Poem by Beryl Dov
A Woman In Ruins
Your fidgety feet have taken root.
Brambles thrust through your eyes,
Branches pierce the chambers of your heart,
Armies of insects revel in your dissolution,
Winnowed by the flight of swallows
Who’ve found refuge in your yawn.
You are not dead, Contessa.
You are simply a woman in ruins,
Moldering in the same corruption
As you have since birth.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
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4/26/2024 1:35:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
