Slow beats the heart of the salamander
Who rests guarding her eggs in the cool moss.
Silently she breathes in my time through gloss
Of skin gold and brown. Disturbed she gathers
Tightly against them; only they matter
Turning their gray yolks, spinning time to floss.
Unwraps the program of their lives embossed
Even in me through my life meander,
Back to the cold throated streams where she lives,
Her old slow eyes imprinted in my eyes
And drawing me into you with a stare,
For that brief moment; then my hair I give
One flick and with a couple pulls and sighs
My mother's eyes click red lips down the stair.
Two very disparate images I know, but salamanders of course typically go through a metamorphosis. Once going out, I was just checking my appearance and how much I can resemble my mother at this age struck me. And no, I don't think wanting to be like one's mother (or father) is really part of being transgender, so forget that.
2 comments:
While I certainly enjoy the tight form you have chosen to work in, it doesn't always work for me, alas. Those end rhymes sometimes seem... oh, you know. I LOVE the rich imagery interwoven in the sometimes strange syntax (for those endrhymes :) and find the salamander and your trip down the stairs a delightful combination.
Brenda,
Thanks,
The tight form doesn't always work for me either. But I find that having to cobble together some strange syntax is very effective...much better than the doths etc that used to be common in sonnets.
I didn't like Salamander in it's first draft and its only because I write my drafts in a journal (of sorts) that I persisted in working the imagery through.
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