The Flowering Wall

Poem from the book The Purgatory Elm, www.TuckfordBunnyPress.com

The Flowering Wall

 

 

I am on the other side of a great citadel

walled in alive with a candle and a stone

to bash my head and kill myself

now that my little candle’s gone.

 

The small space reminds me of the heart,

the candle the length of memory,

buried alive into a dark

measuring five by five by three.

 

We are everywhere under the floor

where they shop above in the square.

Though we howl, scratch and implore

the streets go on with Country Fair.

 

During the Seasons’ festivals

the town comes down to take a tour

and pick a flower from the wall

to dress their children, brides and dogs

 

and hear the thumping that thumps back,

the wind in the flowers mourn

but in a great citadel I dream and tap

until a rose falls to the floor.