waitress poems

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

THE BLACK BELL

The priest comes in his gown
dressed like a black bell,
but silent, silent.
And you lie in the hospital
that white country where
you can ignite like a brushfire
and nothing will burn but you.
He comes after the nurse
drains samples of blood
into long tubes, siphoning
the color from your hours.
He comes after your husband,
your son and daughter
have gone, leaving their pale flowers
everywhere.
He has risen up from your childhood
holding the Communion wafer
between his fingers,
so flat and white it glows.
But when you try to
throw off your fevers and
move toward him,
he withdraws.
Not yet, not yet, he says,
still holding out
for a full confession.

15 Comments:

  • Oh, darkness. I find this effectively disturbing. The untold story.

    that white country where
    you can ignite like a brushfire
    and nothing will burn but you.

    — great simile.

    By Blogger MB, at 12:33 PM  

  • wow! this is wonderful!

    By Blogger la vie en rose, at 2:35 PM  

  • this really is a gorgeous piece. every time I visit here, I find something to make me wish you had a book I could read over and over. Instead, I just read each entry repeatedly, and go away wishing I could take it with me.

    By Blogger Erin, at 12:18 AM  

  • All sorts of bleeding. . .

    By Blogger Popeye, at 8:22 AM  

  • This is very dark, it sums up that terrifying bleakness of the hospital and the priest who gives a sence of the grim reaper. The last line leaves a chilling message. I like it very much

    By Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson, at 11:11 AM  

  • very nice
    love your stuff

    is your book poetry (the one being published)

    By Blogger camera shy, at 9:09 AM  

  • . . . never mind

    i see that it is a novel

    what is it about? do you have synposis you could send?

    im currently working on my second novel and am marketing my first. okay so ive sent it to one place so far. im having a couple more people read it and they are going sloooooowwwwwllllyyyy.

    makes me want to vomit sometimes.

    By Blogger camera shy, at 9:11 AM  

  • beautifully put together
    i love the sense of threat implied here
    that last line is so powerful
    thank you

    By Blogger floots, at 12:13 AM  

  • There's a theme in some of your poetry. Death and religion, and the facade of eternal life through "him".

    By Blogger mermaid, at 1:47 PM  

  • Loved that - great depth - 'siphoning the color from your hours' - that line has so much depth, you could spend hours and and dozen-thousand words just stripping away at the meaning in that.

    Bravo - seriously!

    By Blogger RuKsaK, at 4:23 PM  

  • Sombre, powerful. I especially love the last 7 lines.

    By Blogger Anna Piutti, at 9:45 AM  

  • I have been neglecting my waitresspoems lately, and have missed all these great comments.

    MS. moose: "effectively disturbing" I like to be that. Thanks.

    la vie: thank you, and I"m so glad I found your site.

    erin: thanks for that vote of confidence. I'm hoping to put together a book of poems at some time. Readers like you are what makes it seem a real possibility.

    popeye: Like your site. Notice you also have a preoccupation with bleeding. Thanks for visitng.

    sue: You always read the poems just as I intended them. Wished you live next door so we could sit over tea and read our poems out loud to each other.

    blog this: Thank you so much for your interest in my novel. I will be writing more about it soon.

    floots: Yes, it sounds like an invitation, but it really is a threat.

    mermaid: thank you for coming around often enough to pick up my obsessions. Who knows how I got them, but I did.

    ruksak: thank you! Seeing your name reminds me to get over and check out how things are going in that Russian bar.

    anna: Good to see you here. It's been a bit quiet at your place lately. I know you've been busy with school, but I missed your voice. Thanks for your comment.

    By Blogger Patry Francis, at 10:25 AM  

  • What a lovely thought, well I have a cup of tea and the cat never minds me reading allowd, although he's always non commital about the content.

    I think he prefurs hugs but is too polite to say so

    By Blogger Sue hardy-Dawson, at 11:49 AM  

  • Great poem, made me think I should see a priest and maybe confess. hehe

    Peace & Love

    By Blogger Zeljko Radinski, at 11:44 PM  

  • very good, makes me want to read more.

    By Blogger oxeye, at 8:54 PM  

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