Her Poetry: Clutching at Straws


Clutching at Straws

Clutching at straws,

But what if those splintering

Pieces of plastic

Are the only thing

That reaches down to the depths

And sucks at liquid gold?

I’m told and told

To release my grip

And dip

A little bit further down

Into a different pool,

Not a pool of light,

But one that grabs at my feet

And pulls,

Hurls me down,

To a bottomless pit,

A pit that cries a siren’s call,

It’s death to us all,

If I don’t reach up and clutch

At those splintering

Pieces of plastic

And suck at liquid gold.