I realized that I haven’t published much of my poetry on my own Blog. Here is a piece of my own work.
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When Conceit Dies
Victoria Kelsey
I.
When conceit dies
I will kneel on her doorstep
grass in my mouth
and beg forgiveness.
II.
This is how battles end,
one adversary walks
trudging weakness
with offerings of plated humility.
III.
Wounds of war are long-lived,
as long as wars themselves
plus decades more;
scars old and whited-over lie
sidelong with seeping fresh cuts.
There is always fighting the day before surrender.
IV.
There are feasts for flies
among the dying yellow grasses.
Wives and mothers wend
from blood-mud to blood-mud
searching freckles and moles
to trace with fingertips.
By these marks they know him.
V.
Faithful lovers,
having no place beside biers,
must lay themselves out on fields
of scarlet poppies, must prostrate
out of earshot of villages and clergy.
Their tears must water blossoms
still living; that their loves may die,
still holding honor,
in absence of the dying blooms
on their graves.
VI.
When conceit dies,
I will wipe my tears
with handfuls of dirt,
I will gather up the reeds
among the blooms,
I will crush them in my palms
until a ball of pain
becomes my breakfast.
VII.
I will kneel upon her step
in silence, unworthy of the knock,
and wait until the breath
of the opening door blows
the pollen from my hair.
Transitions 