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Double Posted Poem

Posted Apr 16 2010 12:00am

Springtime and a Tourniquet

© Mary ElizaBeth Peters, April 2010

I’m trying to write a poem

about each season. Four

simple poems: Fall; winter;

spring; summer. I am

bored: I miss my feelings.

Today my lungs were bleeding

and they asked me to save it –

the blood – in a pink plastic cup.

I abided, disgustingly, with their

murderous request, and waited

in my room: the crime scene.

Now I’m toying with writing a poem

about four bloody seasons but I

keep getting distracted thinking

Four Bloody Seasons would make

a good horror movie or at least a

very bad hotel: crime scenes abound.

“Maybe if we just sit here real still

for a hour or so, it’ll clot,” she says.

“Maybe if we run around all crazy

and bash into a wall, we’ll bleed,” I

think. Many possibilities for passing

the time: bleeding; clotting; writing.

Old broken lungs, you act like its too

much to ask not to blood flood up every

month or so. What are your plans? I’d

like a calendar or at least an email now

and again. There are toxins coming down

the line to you and special air speeding

down the pipe. It is raining and it is

springtime now that it is not winter,

anymore: You always liked the warmth.

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