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Patricia Amos

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Parkersburg, WV, US

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Regressed Life

by

Patricia Amos

The one who lived with numbness,
ate not of life, the fragile entity who visits me
in my dreams. A hundred times I see her
sitting folded upon herself, head irreverently
bowed, arms wrapped around her legs.
Glass bead fringe of her ancient wedding
dress carelessly splayed across her
slender arms. The cast prism irises, the only
light visible in the scene. Her feet are bare
and she has walked in blood. A blue-white
feather of a mourning dove blows gently
away into nothingness which surrounds her.
The faint scent of gardenias is ever present.
She is lost. I see her eyes for the first time.
They are mine.


Oxygen

by

Patricia Amos

Freed on Lincoln's
Birthday. I pull my long
legs from the chains.
I marvel at the gift
of them, these appendages
that walk and dance and run.
I raise myself to sitting
then to standing.
The air is so much stronger here.
I breathe deeply
into the apex of my lungs,
enjoy the dizzying
intoxication of oxygen.


Sorrow

by

Patricia Amos

I come to this place, looking
for you. Undelivered.
And my heart bleeds for your
hurt. And mine. I have
raining eyes. Floods of sorrow.
This gift we cherish, so
untimely given. I fortify
my heart against these
cold winds_ that seem so
unforgiving.

The bittersweet taste remains
and obscures believing. Does
God want kneeling?
I have done that, submitted
to his cause. There must be
more besides. My eyes
search the horizon for
comfort until the comfort
comes, and peace, until
the peace arrives.


Dying Inside

by

Patricia Amos

Dying inside

Something huge sits on my
chest and steals
my breath. My fire red blood,
hot and sticky
spills on the ground.
The thirsty crowd licks it up.
You see.
I needed you no more
than you needed me.