Prehensile

[~Sophia~]

Prehensile - by Lidia Laidlaw pen name ~Sophia~

there’s dust on the blinds
red dust like the sweater I won’t buy
or the smoking jacket that snuffed its
fire in the sand with

hands, ruins of hands tunneling
the city corpses and hungry pigeons peck
at the imaginary table never knowing
the feast lies behind the uneasy eyes

watch it now- the Technicolor grid
gray to green to turquoise
do you know how to mix colors

do you know hair floats in a trance mistaken for death
loss, lossy – saying something - but what

the seashell talks until my ears bleed

and my mouth sits at the edge
throws its voice into the moonlight
like frayed silk in the wind

the echoes circling – closer – do you love the scars more
than a storm, the moon, a song

a sparrow that dies at the window
then rises from your palm
tender the small things

when women lick their claws

[Sapphire]

Thank you for posting this Sophia. I have read it 5 times now and still I find new things in it.

So far, this is what gets stuck in my head:

red dust like the sweater I won’t buy
(...)
do you know how to mix colors
(...)
the echoes circling – closer – do you love the scars more
than a storm, the moon, a song

a sparrow that dies at the window
then rises from your palm
tender the small things

I am still searching what this poem is about. But the images and ideas it brings into my head are quite interesting :)

[~Sophia~]

I am still searching what this poem is about. But the images and ideas it brings into my head are quite interesting :)

Thanks Sapphire! It is somewhat abstract (much like my thoughts).