Poetry Feeds The Soul...

Ol' Higue

Okay...I just want people too guess what this poem is about :D

Have fun figuring it out sweeties...

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You think I like this stupidness -

gallivanting all night without skin,

burning myself out like cane-fire

to frighten the foolish?

And for what? A few drops of baby blood?

You think I wouldn't rather

take my blood seasoned in fat

black-pudding, like everyone else?

And don't even talk 'bout the pain of salt

and having to bend these old bones down

to count a thousand grains of rice!

If only babies didn't smell so nice!

And if I could only stop

hearing the soft, soft call

of that pure blood running in new veins,

singing the sweet song of life

tempting an old, dry-up woman who been

holding her final note for years and years,

afraid of the dying hum . . .

Then again, if I didn't fly and come

to that fresh pulse in the middle of the night,

how would you, mother,

Name your ancient dread?

And who to blame

for the murder inside your head . . .?

Believe me -

As long as it have women giving birth

a poor ol' higue like me can never dead.

Mark McWatt