blog description

Old women talk about old things: history, myth, magic and their
checkered pasts, about what changes and what does not.

Monday, July 29, 2013

MEDIUM RARE by Patti Martin


Here's a poem by a Crone-friend, just turned 70, who has occasionally lived a Blood On The Tracks kind of life. I thought this poem expressed a mood we may all be familiar with, come 2:30 a.m.


The steak knife
Slips across the grain
Like the surgeon’s scalpel.
The meat gives way,
And pale blood flows
In rivulets from the red, cool center
Of perfect rare,
Onto cool porcelain.
I press my lips to
The warm, rich flow
And taste only
Cold ashes
And regret.
                                                ~ Patricia A. Martin


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