National Poetry Month: Day 4
Today's poem comes from someone I know, Sharlee Mullins Glenn. We've become friends through Segullah, which is also where I discovered this poem. I love the use of symbolic language in this poem and the way she explores choice in our lives.
Blood and Milk
I dreamed of Oxford . . .
(spires, a thousand spires, endless lectures, musty halls
a solitary self in a Bodleian expanse
A good life, my dear Wormwood. An orderly life.)
then awakened to laundry
and things to be wiped
(countertops, noses, bottoms)
How did this happen? And when, exactly?
Time flows, it flows, it flows
and there are choices to be made:
Time flows, it flows, it flows
and there are choices to be made:
left or right?
paper or plastic?
blood or milk?
There’s freedom in the bleeding;
bondage in the milk—do not be deceived.
bondage in the milk—do not be deceived.
Ah, but it’s an empty freedom; a holy bondage,
A sweet and holy bondage.
A sweet and holy bondage.
Five times I chose the chains, those tender chains,
(though once will bind you just as well!)
and checked the crimson flow.
Suckled while dreaming of Trinity Term
but awakened, always awakened, to the laundry
and to that small and cherished captor at my breast.
(though once will bind you just as well!)
and checked the crimson flow.
Suckled while dreaming of Trinity Term
but awakened, always awakened, to the laundry
and to that small and cherished captor at my breast.
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