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June 9, 2016
Locked away in your tower,
No one every asked
For your hair to climb
Up. And no one believed
Your truth. (They say
those who stay
are saints. )
(I stay.)
Your children question
Your sanity. You let Apollo
Spit this venom into your
Open mouth. (Was
I asleep? I cannot admit
defeat as Helen
comes here on the arms
of Paris. I would punch
her again
if I could.)
This is Poem #91 from the Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems. These are second drafts of those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.
Lady Diction 