 |
| Meshes of the Afternoon by Maya Deren |
The bread is stale
The flowers are dead
I look in the mirror and see
my mother
The roses are red
So is the blood
The mirror is cracked
The pill is swallowed
The flowers are lovely
The bread is round
The people are celebrating
The door is open
There is no bread
The flowers are pressed
The knife is at the wrist
The baby cries
The baby cries
The baby cries
The dirt is on the grave
The mirrors are covered
Where is the key?
Swallowed by grandmother
The stairs are endless
The phone is silent
The music has stopped
I stare at the key
The bread is stale
The flowers are dead
I look in the mirror and see
my mother.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration: Maya Deren
