I couldn’t speak
so I scratched the words onto my hips
like raspberry stains on kitchen-floor-tiles.
I was that tired.
And if my voice is this red,
my arms must be slinkies
and this moment in time
a dead moth in the shower,
a puppet to the water,
slipping down the drain,
slow and sudden like earthworms
and me not knowing any better
than to cup them in my hands,
feeling like a mother as
they choke in the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once, I could not speak, I was that tired..........with the same sadness I feel from your words, with the immensity of visualizing all...I like! 10!