Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Three Floors Up

She grunts, snorts, heaves and lifts a mammoth left,
Rests a swollen right, a bit, to breathe
She mutters, "Ya Rab"
and wipes the sweat from off the forehead,
hair, tattered, red, curls, cling,
Sting, the face,
Feels like a brick.
She pants, a child runs past
A single giggle cracks, entwines,
With baby breath and orange peel,
She smiles, Collects and picks herself,
Exhales, her tongue and lips connect
"Come on now, only six more steps..."


zoss said...

nice one.

(I don't know how you would feel about this, but I would wipe the "from" off the fourth line... )

Mohammed said...

Can't touch it, something strange about this piece, but thank you for caring!

Lauren Agius said...

hi..i was wondering if you could tell me what you're writing about in this piece