I am growing things
my mud feet
my root fingers
my sunflower stem spine
are common
but not as fragile
as you think
I am quiet but not voiceless
beneath your feet
under your machines
silent does not mean weak
I am stone breaking
you forget how hot
this melted rock blood
I pulse burns
I am earth
how my breath
is ashes falling soft
in quiet snow
that never melts
& smothers cities
with a sigh
I am hungry
remember this mouth
will swallow your bones
in the end
A horror poem it seems !!!
I love the structure of this poem Susan. the flow of the two images and ideas is really strong
Thanks, Audra.
Volcanic voluminous beauty!
Thanks
We have been WARNED! Great Susan
Thank you, Rhonda
Was feeling a little… Volcanic yesterday!
like this very much susan. to me it appears it has elements of indian nature in it:)
thank you–I think it has a bit of that feel…
Freud would love this – on first reading!
beautiful, strong!
Oh no–you are bringing out the good doctor! I shall at once retreat, turning all shades of red