Her mouth opens, tight bow unraveling
and I see gold coins pouring between her teeth –
noisy offering that clangs and bounces off the peeled linoleum of my kitchen floor.
I watch them spin on thin-edged devotion,
skid to a halt at my feet.
I am ritual starved –
the ram in the temple.
Madonna eyes are following my every move.
They’re willing me to fold,
bend down and confess
as fingers scrabble for all the pieces,
umbilical cord phrases,
that make my stomachache
and my lips disappear against my teeth.
I melt back,
compel my genes to surrender,
kneel before the queen,
imitate the devout fetish that ministry has bludgeoned into my little orphan skull.
Her mouth closes,
and I will it open.
I will the words to bulldoze out between her teeth.
I will the light to glimmer across every golden turn of phrase
so I can stuff them in my pockets,
bury them in my uterine wall,
give birth to a surrogate god
who will light me up like a nuclear bomb…
who will sacrifice me before her eyes
and make me a martyr worthy.
© Laura A. Lord, 2020
Really, very nice quote
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I liked this just so you know
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Thank you Joanne.
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I liked the intensity of this thought. The vocabilical strength shows in every word used to carve the generating optic while I read it.
Commendable.
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Thank you so very much.
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This is beautiful, I was taken into a place I never thought existed. I was led by the flow of your well articulated words and the rhythm into that world without noticing that body is moving. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you so very much.
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Fantastic imagery and rhythm. So much raw emotion. I loved it.
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Thank you!
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Great
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Thanks
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Nice work!!!!!!!! , beautiful feelings are put in nice group of words !!!!!!!!!!! Very nice!!!!!! And please visit and like or comment on my blogs in my site named natythelittletraveller.wordpress.com
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So wonderful dear
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Thanks!
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