NaPoWriMo - day eleven

filling spaces

this is how you will find me

angry. full of questions,

or maybe answers.

i’m tired of filling my mouth

with mumbling and mysteries,

tired of filling the space

between us with words spilling

onto our chests, clattering

onto the floor

crushed underfoot

as we walk around

in circles, a dance

we practise with edges

sharpened with practiced

intent of parry and thrust,

the hard glint

of steeled resolve.

this is how you refuse

my request, how

bitterness becomes a home.

Night Confession by Anne Carson - NPM11

Priest, I am haunted, it's night in the city
my soul is a box of mortal black sins,
horrible sadness rains onto the sidewalk
and no one comes along.

All is quiet, all is asleep, vast solitude
sickens itself on a gasp of old mansions.
Priest, I am haunted, it's night in the city
my soul is a box of mortal black sins.

In the park in winter in a nasty wind,
comes Lucifer jeering at my broken heart,
mad heart! Look at the suicide grinding his blade,
look there's a good calm hanging tree --

Priest, pray for me, it's night in the city!

Carson, Anne. "Night Confession" Modern Canadian Poets. Jones, Evan and Todd Swift, eds. Manchester: Carcanet Press Limited, 2010. 190.