by SL Ruth
Blue faded flowers curl and lap at a chair
anchored to a rug in the young girl's room;
she's an island adrift on a sea of despair,
she sits without rudder, alone and marooned.
She treads deep waters that are not her own,
her slender knees drawn up to her chest,
her eyes set on places far from her home,
her arms, muscles knotted, dam her unrest.
Slats dig her back leaving wakes of cloth foam,
eddies of breath disguise sighs from her crib;
she struggles to fight welling torrents unknown
pressing her lungs with swelling salt jibes.
Yet sailing, like tears, for fear's foreign shores,
must flow from one's heart to open closed doors.
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1 comment:
Oh my gosh I love the last two lines! Great symbolism and theme. How old is the girl? You talk about a chair anchored to a rug and then a crib. Help me out a little I dont entirely get it.
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