PERSONA
The mud-brown river is clotted with debris.
And what can I do with these dark adhesions,
These unmoored pieces of the night?
They breathe their black into my day--
What can I do with these dark adhesions?
If dreams are rooms in which my self accretes,
They also breathe their black into my day.
As a mannikin, I set myself to work
In dreams or rooms in which my self accretes.
See me there with the pained carved face.
As a mannikin, I've set myself to work
Until the lost loved one appears
And sees me there with the pained carved face.
I cannot get these wooden limbs to work
Until the lost loved one appears
To shrink at the slyness of my puppet-smile.
I cannot get these wooden limbs to work.
Nothing is different from nothing, I say,
And shrink at the slyness of my puppet's smile.
Chrysanthemum dragons shimmer in the room
But nothing is different from nothing, I say,
These unmoored pieces of the night,
These chrysanthemum dragons shimmer in the room--
Still the mud-brown river is clotted with debris.
--Caitriona O'Reilly
