The Blood That Binds Us. {poetry}
{Photo © Lone Morch}
This poem is bleeding. And grim for someone who likes to conjure and contribute grace and beauty. But I was contemplating the blood that binds us and our bodies, as I was witnessing the never-ending news of gang rapes, date rapes, war rapes and hate crimes against women. Rage. Violent attempt of possessing the female body. Blood spilled.
Usually, I process my rage and grief on the private pages. I resist adding more anger and bloodshed to the anguish of our world. But this came out, raw, bloody, painful, knowing we come from the same blood, the same soil, it is what sustains us, enliven us, procreate us, and I offer this as a prayer for the mystery and wisdom of our bloodlines.
I’m no poet, but hey… tell me what you think?
The Blood That Binds Us
Somewhere in the world
two kids prick a hole in their thumbs
with a tiny pocket knife, and
press their thumbs together,
their loyalty forever sealed
Somewhere in the world
a couple is naked in the desert,
his hands on her hips, pushing into her
from behind, each reaching for climax,
blood and sperm down her legs,
aimlessly drying on her skin
Somewhere in the world
a woman collects her blood for
seven days to offers it to her garden,
with prayers for fertility, please
make succulent my arid womb,
give me my child
Somewhere in the world,
in a woman’s body, two lineages
collide, and spark the seed of life,
blood amasses, a belly grows,
and a family is born
Somewhere in the world
a woman in a bathtub, releasing
an unfinished child, the placenta
dissolving, red down the drain,
silent tears into the earth
Somewhere in the world
a young woman cuts her arm
taking strange delight in seeing red
emerge from her skin, a sign of life,
easing her lonesome pain
Somewhere in the world
a woman gazes into a pair of
fetching eyes, blood rushes to her cheeks,
lips quiver, wordless, and two hearts
light up the dark
Somewhere in the world
a wounded man gets a transfusion
of blood from a stranger, and life
returns to his veins with the gift of
a few more breaths
Somewhere in the world
lies a girl in the wet puddle of
his pleasure, her destiny, she bites
the soft flesh of her palm, her hand
pushing between her legs, smearing
her anguish onto the sheet
Somewhere in the world
a newborn sacrificed in a circle
of strangers, intoxicated by the
smell of blood, they each drink
from the well of youth
Somewhere in the world
a woman moans, her vagina
torn again, as he pushes his need
into her, keeping fresh the open wound
that no longer sings
Somewhere in the world
a group of boys jack off with
a biscuit, while somewhere else,
a group of men circle their prey
awaiting, who attacks first
Somewhere in the world
ruthless women cut the pleasure
out of their girls, forever dooming
them to a painful relationship to
their erotic nature
Somewhere in the world
a woman pronounces herself a
free bleeder and, once a month,
blood seeps through her clothes, leaving
a trace of stains behind her
Somewhere in the world
bleeding women hide in huts
shedding their monthly dues, dismissed
and too dirty to occupy their bodies,
owning their nature
Somewhere in the world
a woman’s heart is racing, she’s
holding her breath, and in her hand,
a knife, ready to protect herself,
and draw blood
Somewhere in the world
two bodies collapse, two hearts
galloping, blood pulsing through
veins in an ecstatic explosion,
of awe, of possibility
Somewhere in the world
a heart is given to sustain a life
of someone, and somewhere else,
a heart is stolen to fill the
pockets of another
Somewhere in the world
an old heart’s last throb,
blood slowing, life ebbing out,
the sun sets behind tired eyes,
and I wonder, where does the
blood go, when we die?
***
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For years, Lone Mørch has been getting women naked through her photography, and now, she’s getting naked on the page, with her memoir Seeing Red. As a writer, visionary artist and freedom activist, she engages your heart, hands, mind and gut in sensory experiences and creative explorations. In her work, she awakens and aligns with your sacred path. Her vision is to catalyze your creative metamorphosis, and help you reclaim your soul, sexuality and personal sovereignty. Find out more about Lone at LoneMorch.com and enjoy more of her work at Lolo’s Boudoir. You can also connect with her on Facebook and Twitter.
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