Today's poem is by Molly Bendall
How Small Pains
So far I'm told her horse kept composing,
singing to open air
as we scrambled
with the ghosts.
Yesterday was listing adrift,
a smoky cause
with no party. I didn't convey that
sure-over-it stalling mode, didn't
go to meet the air-beasts trawling the sky,
but I did try to white-it-out again.
to a giddy nothing.
I could be a lost plane in my Amelia browns,
blown clear and spun.
Okay, a few trinkets
are worth stealing,
but only if
I abandon the toy switchblade and listen
to the proud prance of her friend, its
nicker-song and find
the breath charm inside.
These ghosts have a warped sense of fun
and already having been pitchforked
into the swill. I ask for
antidotesdullness and pixie hoods.
And they whirl, haunt the miscrable,
Even the quick stumble.
Copyright © 2006 Molly Bendall All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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