I Knocked My Head against the Wall
As a childI put my finger in the fireto becomea saint.As a teenagerevery day I would knock my head against the wall.As a young girlI went out through a window of a garretto the roofin order to jump.As a womanI had lice all over my body.They cracked when I was ironing my sweater.I waited sixty minutesto be executed.I was hungry for six years.Then I bore a child,they were carving mewithout putting me to sleep.Then a thunderbolt killed methree times and I had to rise from the dead three timeswithout anyone’s help.Now I am restingafter three resurrections.
***
All poets are matchstick men.
1 comment:
Nice poem. I love Anna Swir's poetry. In my blog quite a while back I wrote about her work, here, if you care to take a look.
Great photo of her too -- I'd never seen a picture of her before.
BTW, I found your blog through the blogroll in Elisa Gabbert's blog The French Exit, in case you're curious.
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