Locked Up

I rack my brain to remember
Green needles on fir trees
Dashing sleighs,
Horses knowing the way.
Water torture.
I live through
Each dripping minute
Of each dripping day.
Each drip drops
Over the lines, palm up.
A demolition of the DMZ
In between the silage
Of the life
and loves of me.
Lime walls
Of gloves
Hold me in
Their kidskin
leather grip.
I shiver along with
The silent fingers
Saying, “Burr.”

She, the once I was,
Her mind is an empty silo.
I’m hoping my identity is somewhere
And my mind is not
A sweeping of their brokenness.
I put the sticks on this floor
In my ears
And it seems my eyes are twigs,
Ripping my lids to shreds
I cry green needles
And I store my grandmother’s memory
Out of their reach.
I rack my brain to find it.

***

Diane Kohasn
English Teacher
Age 66
Baltimore, Maryland, United States of America

3 thoughts on “Locked Up

    • Thanks William. Your reply in itself was a poem.
      It really was a beautiful way you framed your words within my poem.
      Underlying on my work is a very political criticism. It’s very pointed but very subversive. Did you have a I haven’t read all the entries. Did you have one? Look for it. I’m in Santa Fe now visiting. I live in Baltimore

  1. “She, the once I was”- how powerful.
    A beautiful piece that seems to question the extent to which our identities are a collection of our “life and loves”.
    Wonderful balance between the first two lines and the end of the second stanza.

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