RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – June 10, 2015

Janet Kolstein

For the Jugular

The grinning skull turns to the lady
with the bleeding feet
and bids her mount his yellow bus
as ochre dust conveys the heat
and slipping light.

And swinging on the cusp of night,
the bus’s door shuts tight
against her urgent need
and makes the destined
all-seeing eye of providence
a distant pyramid.

So she battles with the swollen air
like a boxer under water,
and flails her arms
against the bastards
out for blood
and going for the jugular
in a pulsing countdown
to surrender.

Over glass and jagged rocks,
with ragged breath, she stumbles onward
through blackened tree stumps
where wisps of smoke
rise in signals to the sky

and morph into butterflies
whose wings have beaten
37 summers.

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