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Violets, Time, and Motherhood

One night I lay musing, among violets.

Suddenly it struck me that I was asleep.

In this sleep I saw a number of shapes.

The first of these was a woman weeping.

It might have been a woman sleeping,

or maybe it was a mother praying.

Suddenly it struck me that I was awake,

and I was standing in a room full of doors,

and they were the doors of perception,

and they were not only closed but locked.

I, wakefully, tried to twist each knob.

It struck me that the violets had been

a dream, and that I was probably dead.

So I sat in a chair and hung my head,

not for sorrow, or slumber, but to pray.

And I noticed my children gathered there,

my fruit, my issue, standing together,

and the doors swung open one by one.

One night I lay awake in a music of voices.

It all came to me suddenly, and so I ran

far from the madness, and into a field.

Thorns tore my legs, I panted for air.

I slumped in exhaustion, fell asleep there.

And in my sleeping, began to dream,

and all around me were those violets.