Worrom Doog – a poem by Elisabeth Horan

Worrom Doog

Morning will break, yes –
……………as forever it has donne before
………………………..and your pools will be my pools

We will be half alive or half dead
……………properly mixed; our chi –
………………………..poised for repositioning

Bleeding for how hard we stared at each other:
……………as if infrared goggles could spare a retina,
………………………..as if rain-filled clouds might cushion our fall –

Cheek to cheek, in the sleep cave (till now since 1631) –
……………go not about my grave (unless filled with your dirt)
………………………..go not at night with shovel (unless to dig my corpus up)

And if ye be my earthen-marriage blanket
……………I’ll wear you to dinner – my stole, my corset.
………………………..I’ll steal your heart to dine on said carcass –

Pursue us, Oh God! Allow the morrow –
……………with its flawed goodness, to fly in –
………………………..it’s maniacal mood swings – for war or for peace

Small miracles in the mean – wrapped up in blood-gauze,
……………two tongues in the buttercream; four eyes frozen in fear of forever
………………………..yet with you – forever is the one with whom I cannot compromise;

Such internal reticence; below this maternal birthing sky
……………of glass, of lies: wombs such as mine bear the wars of men –
………………………..same as any other day, or any other sunrise.

Elisabeth Horan enjoys talking with animals and listening in the woods. Her poetry aspires to give a voice to Mother Earth and her children, as well those kindred souls who may be suffering alone and in pain – especially those suffering with mental illness. She has recently been featured at TERSE. Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, Quail Bell Magazine and Milk & Beans.  Elisabeth teaches English at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.

ejfhoran@weebly.com follow @ehoranpoet