Stewing Mind - by Amy Barry But here I was deep into the wonder and delight of Magnolias, Lilacs, Freesias. I heard bird song but to my ears it was like a taunt, I felt like me but somehow see myself, the way you can in dreams; foggy-headed, making my way through trees with twisted roots, and thick thistles that slowed me down, my face and arms, scratched and stinging, leaving me incomplete, drained and flawed, but I pressed on, finding my way back through the darkness as if suddenly covered by an eclipse. I had felt a hand reach in under my dress, snaking across my breasts. Dizzied with every step, my heart throbbed, I couldn’t breathe, I coughed trying to suck in air. Shivering as if icy fingers were drumming down my spine, my muscles cramping, my brain, frantic. Biting, strong smell filled my nose, binding me tightly to its invisible mist. Then there was a fire flickering, its flames became sharper. I found myself hearing angels sing, my feet flew over the ground, full of lightness and joy. I open my eyes to find, I’m still me, still here. About the author Amy Barry She writes poems and short stories. Her poems have been published in anthologies, journals, and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad. Her poems have been read and shared over the radio in Australia, Canada and Ireland. She loves traveling. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Bali, Paris, Berlin have all inspired her work. (Knot Magazine) youtube/watch?v=fhOGw_oLgJ4&feature=youtu.be
Posted on: Wed, 08 Oct 2014 06:14:59 +0000
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