Tuesday, July 2, 2013

the world is green

My Life
by Mark Strand

The huge doll of my body
refuses to rise.
I am the toy of women.
My mother

would prop me up for her friends.
“Talk, talk,” she would beg.
I moved my mouth
but words did not come.

My wife took me down from the shelf.
I lay in her arms. “We suffer
the sickness of self,” she would whisper.
And I lay there dumb.

Now my daughter
gives me a plastic nurser
filled with water.
“You are my real baby,” she says.

Poor child!
I look into the brown
mirrors of her eyes
and see myself

diminishing, sinking down
to a depth she does not know is there.
Out of breath,
I will not rise again.

I grow into my death.
My life is small
and getting smaller. The world is green.
Nothing is all.

1 comment:

  1. First of all, Ruth, your image is...exquisite. I have seen those webs out in your fields and pine for them.

    Secondly, Mark Strand's words are haunting. Very haunting...and a bit disturbing to me.... Makes me want to talk about what I'm feeling.


Welcome. If you would like to say something, rest assured that I will respond in my self, even if I do not respond in word.