Toiling in Blame

Ah the bracken,

I am shaken,

To my tender, creamy core.

Oh this thicket,

Where’s my ticket

To your softer, saline shore?

I push forward,

Always shore-ward.

I know I may sustain some scratches.

Scalpel glances

could by chance lance

my viscera through patches.

I’m a beggar.

Lift a finger,

Or drop a weighty crumb.

Ease my longing

for belonging

somewhere not beneath your thumb.

My dignity

It left me,

replaced by just this need:

To lick the salts

Coating your vaults.

If blood could melt them I would bleed.

Oh my husband,

tender heartland,

I know your heart it shaketh.

I held the vessel

By its tassels.

I shuddered at its breaking.

I’m a darkling.

No more sparkling,

All rust and shame and blame.

I will be working,

Without shirking

So long as you are game.

I cradle love,

A candle mine,

A threatened, spitting flame

Against the tempest

Of your anger

Till you taste sweetness in my name.

HS 8-29-2016

Holding-a-candle-007
Image credit: unknown
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