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temazepam by Jennifer Wilson



my mother is the cow that stands over me

chewing cud, human eyes in her face.


it wasn't the death I wanted

but dreamless, endless sleep

and the pills have provided

a covering for my head

& saliva salve for the torn-bald

ring around my crown


& I wear it soft

with my breathing smothered,

the ferrous taste of cow

somehow more dreamlike

than the scene.


and she soothes me;

the salt content of my blood

her saltlick and my wounds

her softened hands,


her fingers collecting up

my cuts as preciously

as garnets for the savage

who wear such things to war.


O barbarians

& thoughts keep me

from keening into sleep -


Saxons cut the curves

from my skin

and see me silent,

helpless beneath my mother


who makes my bed with bodies

broken in softness

from the sky.



 



Jennifer Wilson lives in Somerset, England, and spends her days as a faceless retail drone. Her work has appeared in various online journals, a full list of which can be found at jenniferwilsonlit.wordpress.com. She may also be found on Twitter @_dead_swans


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