Dovina1 Apr 2006
I see you trying to incorporate the comments on the former version, but to ill effect. I hate when people do to me whast I wioll do to you:
The woman does not move;
her clock has amnesia,
and her hands are scarred.
The peeping bird has ceased its
back-âforth routine, and the mother,
in her complacent gown
under the arch of the bathroom door,
is consumed by a force
greater than herself.
It makes her babyâs
oval lips silent, before itâs attempted cry.
The toddlerâs pruned fingers
twisted the cold water off, allowed hot water
to spill; and now the boiling water
tightens on the skin
that lies prey-pink raw.
He is a statue that burns,
he sees out of blue eyes.
tortured stare nembraces her.
Frozen fingers
are in limbo in this eternal pause,
cementing her feet.
Babyâs mouth
is opened without the screech; time quit in the seconds
that lived before a wail and attempt.
Not perfect. Play with it.