Broken Art

Broken Art
by T.L. Stokes



Here in the grass breast of my mother will I lay my head,
sorrowing for seed and stillness. Here among the wet
breath will I whisper an old thought and dream while she
holds me again. Far from the broken thighs, oh heavy
longing. Our children lost in the rubble. Far
from stones and paintings turned to another form
of art and grave, I will leave my family, they sink
from my heart. I will be pretty on what I think stable.
In dreaming I fly, in sleep I awaken. Here, far
from islands and oceans. Here in the grass breast
of my mother, will I lay my head.




for Chile