Dream Poem 88: Blue Dyed Yarns
In a police car
He is helping me.
I am crying about…
A woman walking down the high street in rags
Blue dyed yarns in her hand.
His place is a right mess,
dust and clutter everywhere.
Collect Art Publication July 2023
First published in Collect Arts Summer 2023 edition Stone all the flowers The year of the art school tutorials. The difficult woman you are to me, and the difficulty I present to you. The year of my recovery and your husband’s death. Your husband fails and worsens through the days of our trimesters together. As he weakens and declines, I grow incrementally stronger. As if terrible fatalistic scales of balance, set and reset. Do not cheat her. Give her a full measure of time and experiences with him. Pressed down, shaken together and overflowing. She, in the face of all this decay Chooses to destroy flowers with stones. Until their purple hearts stained the cartridge with their elemental pigments. She cuts the flowers only to waste them in the parching sun. It is the cycle of being and unbeing, the grass withers and the flower fades (Isiah 40:8). She decides to press her flowers till their lungs burst on fine cotton Lawn. Flower tortu
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