soiling lies
inside the coat of my mother’s yearning
its snow color fur on my black midi-length
dabbing my face
wet with virgin flakes
an anchor its receded touch
rusted out through and through
in struggle to sew my fabrics together
to repaint each of my two myrrhed walls
cold
the table hasn’t been set for too long
waterless the ewer breadless the hearth
beds unmade in their tucked-in warmth
devoiced the radio ringless the doorbell
interference over and over and over
silenced words silencing the road-weary spirit
icy bare halls resounding unending wishes
dark
slipping through my fingers
while i saw nothing in the oozing mirror
it bled once again from out of each spore
i turned a cliffside into a dam this time
but overlooked the open flood gates
dry
her lap a pillow of tender quills
the worn-out blanket soaked in her scent
“snow falls on top of those who sleep”
awake
sequential persistent nonetheless covert calls
to pay a visit to pay a visit to pay a visit
alive
activate the life support though now in vain
quieted with force yet determined to self-end
ensuing her sevenhundredfortyone and a half-day extent
on the seventh of the fifth with eternal respect
ceding her remaining air to her beloved kin
she spins to a nothing never to be felt again
no womb to take the tears to
late
void
shrill
in pity the homeland enters the main vein
revives herself in memory reappears in flesh and blood
her scent crawls through each of the passing cells
thirst arrives in hunger pangs
eight precious households come into view
singing dancing flowing in sync to an eternal feast
mute
eyes lock on the trail to her breathtaking peak
from where the sea struts its azure wealth many seek
and there a mere step away
dons the house its unending hospitality
bricks worn out shutters in their lately ashen trace
erect in its famed humbleness as yet
vying to amass a few more gasps
the ornate transoms eye the vast sky
their weathered glances collapse as waves
the ground’s dirt is tender as maternal caress
its trees’ depleted roots ready themselves to finally rest
as have those who were there before lying forgotten abreast
decomposed
heart seeks shelter on the faded print undug
wide concrete steps lead to a colossal wooden door
where a stately man holds a briefcase in one hand
a fedora complements his stunning handsome face
a mere toddler my mother’s one intensely beloved brother
his nose glued on the front window in their mother’s arms the other
a gorgeous sight my own sweet darling mother
as one yet with her all-giving esteemed soul
warm
her precious girl all grown up
on her path of rights escorting more than a few wrongs
having pained many a hearts no exception her tortured core
housed beside those by whom she does not belong
in her filthied resting place she laced not only once
heeding love’s enticing whisper in relentless hope and intoxication
inside its stolen womb questing its easing promise to not end
is it courage in her choice if left with the intended self to blame
fake
the bliss of a mask of strength the innocence-alluring pretense
hollow
knitting her fate into her caftan weaving patternless loops
feared
cursed
disapproved
still in refusal to sense the self’s contention
© hülya n. yılmaz (March 20, 2015)
“soiling lies” – together with the works of my seventeen fellow poets appeared in the “Epic Poetry” section of the April 2015 issue of The Year of the Poet, a monthly book series published by Inner Child Press, Ltd.
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