At the Clinic

Blood collection, talk of drugs
with names mysteriously
rooted in the unpronounceable
in this place; glaring in its whiteness
seeming otherworldly, far removed
from earlier today on the dirt path
that wanders by the wharfs where
feral tomcats sun themselves and mothers
have brief respite to lick their ragged fur
as playful offspring tumble among rocks
and skitter off to hide from any hint of danger

Such is this thing maternal that
turns these scrawny matrons into tigers
lying still, with narrowed eyes
prepared to fight, if needs to die
for the careless bundles that suck them dry
and it’s a pendulum swing this mother-love
that draws a constant arc until the point
of aging when the young are not so
and it’s now, at the quiver point of returning
when time draws with it only the inevitable
that I scratch about for a grit of hope to offer.

~ Jenni Blackmore

Jenni writes: “A couple of years ago I decided to write a poem a day for a year. Not necessarily one of my most brilliant schemes. However stubborn is as stubborn does and so 365 poems later I ended up with a eclectic collection which I am now shopping around under the title, The Books of Everyday. I am originally from Manchester, England, but now live my dream on a small island east of Halifax, Nova Scotia, where I write poetry and fiction for all ages, paint and practice sustainable living with a variety of critters. I have written and illustrated several books for children and a collection of my short stories and poetry was published under the title, Counting Crows.

One Response to “At the Clinic”

  1. I love your idea of writing a poem a day. I might take on this challenge. Best of luck with your collection! I hope to read more of your work soon!

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