Terese Svoboda
September 2003

Mother Bleeds From The Mouth


The ocean laves one long line
where the sun sets how red?

My hand waves at it,
all meaning wry

since no one's around.
Around and around a scarf

beats in the sunset wind,
DNA against cloud.

Maybe my hand waves for that.
Maybe I should speak.

The ocean closes and closes.

from Treason, Zoo Press, 2002.