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:

    left or right?
    paper or plastic?
    blood or milk?
 
There’s freedom in the bleeding;
bondage in the milk—do not be deceived.

Ah, but it’s an empty freedom; a 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.

(I'm not sure I got the spacing right. See the original here)

Comments

Kristi said…
I like this one.
Ben said…
Love it!
Ben said…
Sorry, that was Becca.
brinestone said…
I haven't reacted that strongly to a poem in a long time. Wow. Wow wow wow.
Katya said…
This comment has been removed by the author.

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