What a morning! We're recovering from a night of Wiggly fun from seeing The Wiggles in concert. Needless to say, I did not write a new poem this week. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was exhausted.
However, I did take Wednesday off from work to work on my poetry manuscript. Now that was a mess! I nearly had a panic attack trying to impose an order on my poems. But it's done, so now I can revise the text and see what should stay and what should go.
In the process of looking through my poems, I did find this one for Poetry Thursday. It's an older one, a bit Sharon Olds-esque. (Can't seem to get the lines to break correctly in Blogger.)
Hope to get caught up enough to read everyone else's poems and respond to your blog posts. Remember, I'm still in a Wiggles-induced funk.
And yes, Twitches, I had a great time :)
When my father snores
he sucks in the whole world
and releases it in one pure breath.
At night I’d come into his room
where he would pass out on the bed—
too drunk to change his clothes or
put out his cigarette, which had
burnt itself down to the embers. I pulled
off his shoes and watched him sleep,
smelling his sweet, stale breath
fill the room in waves. He was so out of it
I could put my finger into his mouth and pull it out
before he inhaled.
Once I let my finger linger a second
too long and his tongue touched the flat of my tip.
I thought of going in deeper, first a hand, then an arm;
the tender cutlet of my body swallowed whole by my
father. But I was barely enough to make him cough.
He rolled over on his side, leaving a well in the space
where his body had been. I crawled back into my own bed,
as my father slept the peaceful sleep of ogres, feeling
the house shake with his rhythmic tremors.