Resurrection

By Costmary

Mon, 20 Feb 2017

2 comments

In my time I looked at my hands and I understood:

I resemble my mother.

Life flows out from my joints and comes back to itself through my fingertips,

according to the season. I juggle with life, I give it and take it back.

Either I keep my hands in prayer, or I place them on the bare ground,

I am just like her.

Yorick died to me not so long ago.

He was gentle and subdued in the hands of Hamlet

and it was also him looking at me around the mirror of Mary Magdalene.

From the smoke of my cigarettes, little black spiders appeared

between my fingers and I smashed them one by one...

but today they are resurrected, sadly jolting on the dirty floor.

I did not know that even they can come back to life.

Today I speak to Yorick's son, whilst through the pulse of my fingers

yesterday's sun still passes towards tomorrow:

you too, your Kindness, you are alike your father.

Permalink Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on Tue, 2017-02-21 05:32

Timeless, surreal, I like the cigarettes and the spiders.

Permalink Submitted by Costmary on Tue, 2017-02-21 10:06

Thank you Elsie for reading and letting me know. The spiders and the cigarettes are only circumstantial.