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
in a tree and its flock in the field nearby all helpless and surrounded
by, of course,
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.