backyard and day-weary

Grass sticks on soles' green walk
patient like anesthesia
forged in sun's accompaniment.

Woman in sweatpants
distills every mother's prayer
uncut hair of graves.

Chest rhythm abiding
rising into rose blossoms,
their open fragrance.

Mourning it is then
fettered waste of ribcage
sweet kiss of magpie.

Comments

[Chris Boese]

"uncut hair of graves" sounds familiar to me. Where am I remembering it from? Is it a literary reference and my head is foggy? (Emily Dickinson?)

Or am I remembering it from one of your other poems somewhere, maybe in workshop?

xox
Chris

[kathryn gessner]

Yes, you remember it from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself."