They should not be laid to my charge
I can’t be trusted with these -
I’ve always lost earrings,
spilled guarded secrets,
and broken small porcelain things.
Anger and selfishness constitute me.
No one ever gave me a test
or ascertained what would suit me the best
Am I my own keeper
All a-buzz with bees
Should I offer nets
and balm for the stings
How did I become a keeper of things
of such precious plum gems?
You mustn’t walk away yet
expecting me to oblige.
I live in a lurch of compunction
where Heaven’s awash with the tide.
Consider the dark purple flower
wretching a savory rush
while I in my phlegmy heart
wish I could sleep
through the gurgle and moan
of primal abdominal push.
Through the crying for peace
I am vying
Thinking as a sole fish.
I am careless, vicarious,
Wanting and wrong.
Your desire requires
the spurning of lassitude
shifting to staid aches -
sincerity,
cherishing -
while I offer reticence
Unworthy of thanks.
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2007
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