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furry arts discussion => poetry corner => Topic started by: MarkDrees on October 05, 2011, 09:43:07 pm
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I am from my Grandmother,
from the way she tried to teach me the apostles,
each and every one in order.
I still don’t remember them that well
except “The traitor, Judas.”
Looks like I have to save myself.
I’m from how she would have me pick up walnuts.
Each one off the ground, a planet to be placed
among the slivers and stars of a wood bucket.
I’m from the tree that dropped them.
The way its branches were out of reach,
I couldn’t climb into its arms,
but I still cried when they cut it down.
I’m from sitting close to Her
on the churches wooden seats,
shadow puppets on the pews,
and ignoring the Priest.
I guess the less comfortable you are,
the holier you become.
Well those benches made of maple
Should have spread our feathers
and made us angels
I am from Her broken plaid couch.
From never jumping on it,
but sleeping on it all the time.
Letting its ancient springs feed me dreams,
curving my spine like a serpent in the wind.
It was the best sleep I’ve had since.
I'm from a time when I had nothing
to pray about.
Someday I'll make it there again
Where simplicity can breath easy and weightless
Some days I'm so close
I can taste it
So I lie awake in bed
and pretend I'm on that couch
Just to remember what it was like
In my grandmothers house