One Hour Behind

doesn't everyone read her the night before?
was she a mom? check her out

'H.D.'s "Hermetic Definition": The Poet as Archetypal Mother'

I am one hour behind physically and two or more mentally, you must
this is a morning of rough nails being driven into the drum of my skull
and I'm only capable of mumbling

Slow, slow ragged start to this spring day, a daughter oversleeps, a
turkey stuck
in a tree and its flock in the field nearby all helpless and surrounded
by, of course,
barking dogs
My mother would say I'm quite ineffectual

I need a grip, hysteria is catching
lots going around, doomsday scenarios
super volcanoes, asteroids from outer space

H.D. says, hard to be an ok mom and a poet

the four horsemen of the apocalypse on crack
deadly winds blowing disease famine war my way
I wonder, what is the fallout of these weird days?

Nancy Cavers Dougherty

If you've any comment on this poem, Nancy Cavers Dougherty would be pleased to hear from you.