Wild Heart

Girlhood is a tentative thing 

Unsure if it has room to breathe-

Sticking close to solid shadows 

The comfort of twilight, often

I find myself carrying her to bed.

In the soft morning hours

I call out like a gentle but stern 

Blurry silhouette of a mother-

Hands worn, eyes a duller green

Head aching something awful

But arms wide open.

Always warm in the setting sun

Feverish, impoverished

Still dreaming even wide awake.

The thick, dark leaves

Of orange trees and their bright 

Pale blossoms juxtaposed.

There is softness in the gloom 

In the heavy branches 

Baring thorns, baring petals. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Anna. The poetry is amazing. You took the reader to many places and thoughts.
"There is softness in the gloom
In the heavy branches
Baring thorns, baring petals."
I adored the above lines. I could write a epic poem from. You gave glimpses of a life. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote