Girlfriends - Poem by Elizabeth Woody
Filled with old lovers, in the clutch of the chair,
you are a bloom of uncombed hair.
With a collection of roses, bowls of mashed petals,
I make a clear cup of sky.
Fold away clouds. Roll up blankets of blue.
I am a body of empty husks.
Indian corn is in your hair, the tassels,
the pollen, fertility.
Indelible ink is tattooing our lungs.
We speak smoke.
We exchange our lunacy for reverence.
Windy Woman. Four Winds.
We have extended the edge of expectation
by merely living.
You have tallied compulsion
I am measured by the excitement
my lips stir.
I am the bin for castoffs and the weary.
I wear my veil.
I have no children,
but you have many.
You dream of heaven and they all run up to meet you.
Comments about Girlfriends by Elizabeth Woody
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You