Our Mold

Our mold

I was poured into your mold.
I have wished he'd thrown it away
All these long days
Reasoning with pain
Crushing tenderness
Of pouring her
Into our old, crumbly mold
I would break it
I would dash it on concrete
Shatter the plaster
Crack the caste
I would save her
From needy gut-wrench
Barely clinging
Air crushed out of pancake lungs
By this merciless mold.
But I'm not Him.
He is the Pourer.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006