Iphigenia

220px-Herbert-schmalz_iphigenia

These are the stories that I was told.
The softest petal draws the bee; the sturdy stem doesn’t.

These are the stories that I was told.
Beautiful night is silent; hush stars, the sun must sing.

These are the stories that I was told.
Look at the river. She bends and sways on her way home.

These are the stories that I was told.
Write only the poetry of God; He will bless you.

These are the stories that I was told.
Salmon makes her way up-stream; she lays her eggs and dies.

These are the stories that I was told.
I want you to devour my school-girl inhibitions.

 

Previously published in Pyrokinection 

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Categories: Poetry

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