Scream Poem by Judith R. Robinson

Scream
after Edvard Munch



Layer upon layer waiting til
the pump that beats
falls still and stops.

Give me ground a stone a stalk
a place firm enough
to stack this

wild Grief
that swallows hard
splits the rib cage

open edges raw red
blood blackens crusts the soft core
where Hope used to sit.

Witless Hope spread
her naiveté eagerly as a child
butters bread.

God help me.
It is hard to stay here where
trees blood & eyes are so weary
so scrutable.

This may be about having had enough.

This may be about wanting
the world to come.