Laments of a Destitute Housewife — Poetry

Sweet Jesus, what has become of me?
This tangled mop of hair
Loss of bit, an elephant’s girth—
Even I find me so repulsive
I’ve smashed mirrors
To hide my shame

This world has swallowed me
Regurgitated the most vile parts
And paraded me for all to see—
Bystanders turn their heads
Even the curious deny me

Is it any wonder I seek death?
To rid myself of this pain—
A heart dipped in lead
So heavy, so heavy
And these burdens burning my soul—
I am but ashes, ashes
And now, with the wind, even less so

©2014, Lori Carlson

From My Letter Series – A Letter to Virginia in Autumn

My dearest Virginia —


The air is crisp and cool tonight

not fevered as nights’ past

I smell Autumn and long for you —


I remember the last time

we walked together

your dress

of yellow, orange and flame red

swished in the late afternoon air

I could have watched you forever

dancing along the beaten trails

We sat and scattered our lunch

among the browning leaves —

with bellies bloated, we stretched out

your bronze head rested upon my chest

I gazed into the filtered sunlight

and thought

there could be no better life than this


O Virginia!

I miss your curves and valleys

my fingers dipping into your silky lakes

bathing in your scent of pine and redbud

caressing shivered slate ridges —

my arms ache to embrace

your harvest

where you give, give

your bounty in abundance —

Such passion I’ve never known since


Sweet love —

if I could but see you again

feel your laughter against my skin

taste the Autumn rain upon your lips

Surely that would sustain me —


As I gaze up into the filtered sunlight

leaves beginning to blush

I think of you, My sweet Virginia —

these Oklahoma Autumns are sun-dusted

and barren

            compared to you


Call me home, Virginia!

I am brown leaves, parched —

Call me home!

the frigid chill of Winter is so near

O Virginia –

if I could have just one sip

from your maple-dripping lips

            I could live once more

I could live

© 2013 Lori Carlson


An Exercise in Imagery

Prompt: Color Personified


The House of My Childhood Wept

The house of my childhood wept —
inside, blue tears ran down paneled walls
a precise pool converged on sofa and chairs
All blue — smokey skies adorned the floor
down the hallway and up the stairs

Momma sat in her blue room
overcome by it —
loneliness bathed her in periwinkle
she inhaled and exhaled
breathing in the saltiness of Navy

One day Alice blue came to visit
and stayed —
she was subtle, barely noticeable
this house so blue
And she slithered down Momma’s body
settling between her toes

Momma was engulfed in blue
Alice whispered, just let go
With Momma’s last breath, Alice lingered upon her lips
And the house of my childhood wept

© 2013 Lori Carlson