Today's poem is by Teresa Pfeifer
No house of self, my little Matryona
No more whispers of the war you can hear in there,
No wallpaper with open-winged eagles,
Their beaks repeating themselves.
No empty corners for a comma dalliance,
Umpah, umpah, er ah, twiddler of thumbs.
Neither are there curtains with toy drums
To draft a feeling for the time of day.
Would be relief. Would be sweet.
Open you and there you are,
By diminishing returns.
No in-a-gadda-da-vida, honey.
No sting of cerebellum inside its case.
Rattle you and every door unhinges,
Pop and the cat is purring,
The top whirring and that bird is out.
You never rust from springs.
And the voices you hear,
No longer come from things.
Copyright © 2009 Teresa Pfeifer All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002-2009 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2009 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved