Molly Bloom - Poem by Francie Lynch
I call her Molly Bloom.
The blossom fell from Molly
As I sipped the lip of morning.
She grew on me.
Others do too.
I grow into things.
I worried about my height,
But I had large feet,
So grew as the present slipped past.
Hair was always really important
It appeared, slowly, on arms and legs,
Pits and lips, followed by groin pains.
I know atrophy and entropy grow too,
Take root like my historical assimilations.
Like watering, I daily weed apathy.
But Molly, she was different.
She presented with love;
Was received with indifference.
Then I cared too much.
(Did you know you can actually kill with love?)
When I lifted her ashen-petalled cheeks
She was my Bloomsday.
Should I vacation on Reunion Island
Where locals make strong rum?
I could pestle her to re-invigorate,
Or make a vanilla shake,
Or kid myself, believing her open shadow will
Brighten my window in the sun.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Molly Bloom by Francie Lynch
Mary Elizabeth Frye
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