Let me cradle myself back
Into the darkness
Of the half shapes...
Of the cauled beginnings...
Let me stir the attar of unused air,
Elusive... ironically fragrant
As a dead queen's kerchief...
Let me blow the dust from off you...
Resurrect your breath
Lying limp as a fan
In a dead queen's hand.
Dedication (to My Mother)
Lola Ridge
(1)
Poem topics: breath, dust, I love you, I miss you, queen, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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