At the Mercy of Stones
I am the woman
with stones in her mouth.
They crush weak protest
into slumbering whispers
between cold sheets,
I dream of old promises
and fragrant nights
once filled with hungry lovers.
The moon paints women
with strange eyes
and sharp fingers onto
my ceiling. They laugh
at my stubbed nails,
In shadowed blue visions, pages
part from worn bindings.
They drift out the window,
my story no longer.
I hope the stones teach
my tongue new stories
told in a fiercer voice.
Published in Lotus Bloom Journal,
Also accepted for publication in The Women of the Web print
This poem took First Place in the July 2003 PBL competition
judged by kris kahn, poet and journal editor..
by Itzhak Ben-Ariel
copyrighted and used with permission
Itzhak Ben-Ariel has appeared on my pages several times. He is
an Israeli photographer, specializing in photomontage. Visit his site
by clicking on his name to view more of his stunning work and read his philosophy of art.
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Poetry Index I (Collaborations)