Serial Writer

I * Pin * Few words * Fastening * Them onto paper * Cutting their wings in the process * Just to write a story they cannot live any more.

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She peels the onion
with her pen.
Tears flow.
Wash away world

These hands that reached for a lover, married another, comforted my babies, wrote these words: Are suddenly my mother’s.

You incubated in darkness, were born in a yellow notebook; I loved you like any fantasy child.

You’re a noun of renown,
A pluperfect clown,
All other tenses take warning.

So conjugate me,
Declineate me,
Just verb me again in the morning.