Spindle Poem by Lesley Taylor

I was born in a printing press
I'll die as a thread
through a pin
in the rain
On the sidewalk.
I was simmered
and sauteed
like an onion
or like grain
I was baked and I rose up like bread.
I'm there 'cause I wander
I'm here cause I stay
Perhaps I'll never leave this place.
I'm torn and regretful,
battered and heartfelt,
I'm a baby in the womb, I'm the mother.
I'm defeated so soon.
(breath alludes death intrudes)
can we go without knowing the truth?
I'm a bell on a string,
I'm a whisp of a dream,
I'm a poem, I'm a poem, I'm alone.
I was born in a printing press,
I'll die crushed as papre
thin ideas, thin ideas
on a thread.