Elizabeth Lynn Smith
Waiting
Hold me in your folds
of pink candlewick,
Mother.
Hold me tight.
When hurt falls
put me under your umbrella,
Mother.
Push up the night.
Fill the silence
with tales wrapped up in magic,
Mother.
I want to fly.
Let the soft fur
of your voice give me warmth,
Mother.
Feed the fire.
When they come for me
spread your love like marmalade
across the floor.
Mother, please don’t cry.
Page(s) 36
magazine list
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Iota
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- Lamport Court
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- Magma
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- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
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- North, The
- Oasis
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- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
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- Poetry London (1951)
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Quarto
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
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- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The