alfie lee writing



was a temple
medium, sharp
shout tongue, possessed

of seeing-eye
and wild dance trance.
The other was
a widow, a

farmer, single-
handed giver,
smelled of washcloths
and baking suns.

They kept things to-
gether, kept things
running, kept the
men, kept the kids

in school, kept ask-
ing for grandsons,
kept at arm's length,
hard luck, harm, at

hand, protection.
I call upon
you two, women
of my blood, save

me from my own
undoing, hold
me in the death
grip of your arms,

whip me out of
my person, peel
me of my skin,
fill me, make me

come, you old cunts,
and finish off
whatever the
fuck you've begun.


home           new           poems           stories           index           about           stuff           speak           share on facebook

for art by alfie go to
for music by alfie go to
for graphic designs by alfie go to

all writing, artwork & music on this site
copyright of alfie lee
& may not be reproduced in any form without express consent

Powered by Blogger