you must remember
rosemary, pansies, fennel,
columbine and rue,
You forgot tansy, didn’t you?
When the ground freezes over
And your flowers crumble and brown
Let the ice in Hamlet’s Heart
And the Red on his hands
Deliver him forever from you.
And when you return again
From your journey to the sea
It is you.
It was never he.
I sat and watched the current roll by today
I think I’d like to float away to a place that I cannot say
You were always directing the rivers flow
I trusted you knew where it would go
But you let me go adrift
Dream chaser isn’t that what you always said?
You’re where the love has always been
Dream chaser dream chaser
don’t mock me now
Its not always the same
You will find me in this life or the next floating down stream
Not a single memory left
from up here, the night is clearer.
she is closer to the sky.
the branches cradle her like a mother’s arm,
bouncing in the night’s distractions.
if she stretches high enough,
perhaps the summer breeze
will whip these leaves into a flurry,
and carry her,
perhaps she will join the path of stardust
and deserted dreams
to meet the star-girls
in their extra-terrestrial dance –
yet the maternal clasp of mother’s chest
holds her fast,
with ropes of tears and blood.
By men around me
Locked ever in memory
Who holds the keys
To my prison?
Into welcoming embrace
I will become a mermaid
No room on dry land
In this man’s world
For a woman of pure heart
To break the mold
My fight floats away. . .
I don’t want to be surrounded by men anymore
I run, it is in vain, I go in circles
I wish mother would take me to the water
A world without mothers
The world would fight in peace
He says it is over Ophelia
It’s never over
I tear this watch off my neck
I am sick of biology ticking
I am going to end the world
A woman doesn’t have the power they laugh
I will poison the milk that flows in me
I will take the planet between my breasts and watch it pop
The world will end
When there are no more mothers
stamping out of the water
a malnourished fetus dangling from her open womb
“Look what you have made me do!”
tired of men knotting flowers around the slashes on her wrists
to make death look appealing
I’m Ophelia, except I didn’t die in a river
mouth full of seashells and eye-sockets full of mud
I’m Ophelia, alive, burning
blood on my knuckles and poetry scribbled over my palms
Hush, little boy, you tragic Hamlet imposter
I might be coming for you next