A Sacrifice to the Gods of Mundane
A Sacrifice to the Gods of Mundane
by Laura Summerville Reed
Words forgotten; time gone
Images in my mind still
Crisp as apples in my teeth
Committed to paper
Now
Committed to the earth
Decayed
Rusty spirals binding nothing
They were the rosy-prosy, pretty things
They were dark, metaphorical things
They were the fruit flies drowned
In my Spanish red wine
They were the moon
That controlled the tide
At the most inconvenient times
They were never-spoken names
With bits of me attached
And
I
Threw them out
If I died while my children were young
Who could blame me then?
One must protect what is precious
Especially oneself
Like flesh pressed into flesh
The first velvet ache where life is conceived
And born from the womb of my mind
My pen pressed to the paper
Uncertain of the things
That compelled the act
But sure the act would be all I needed
Then
I
Tossed you away
To keep the peaceable kingdom
And to the gods of mundane
I sacrificed my first born
Upon the incense of a garbage pyre
I censored myself
I sliced my own tongue
Into the sides of my cheeks
Carved pretty words with a silent sword
That sang my babies to sleep
©LSR 2010