Isobel Terry

The fountain

I am shooting into the air
curving back with gravity

into the large pool
from which I came.

I recede in curved lines
into the distance

holding sounds of words
in exhilarating breath.

And are your ears listening
I wonder ? You do not care

your ears have closed over
and can not hear.

I see you on a seat
by the border.

The gardeners are here,
you lift your head

your eyes rest on the curves
of their shoulders.

I am waves of pain
you stand

walk towards me
and with your finger cut

across my line
of flow.

Suddenly I am shooting

a gush of fluids
across cellular membranes

an opening
into which I pour

words of sorrow
you write on a page.

An iris in full purple bloom
stands guard.

One comment on “Isobel Terry

  1. Love this poem the way you express fluidity in the lines it rises and falls. It reminds me of the essence of a woman.

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