What Edith Knows

A Poem

She scraped against solid walls Her water-fed ribs — shed flakes of soft stone

In a pie she baked she slid a pair of scissors

Edith knows blood in the mouth is its safest place to be

She handled glasses with special care, moving her fingers on the rim like calling a séance

Her slithering arms folded broken teeth in a bread-dough with brown seeds

Edith knows burying bone always needs wholesome — warm casing

She cut strands of wool like she were pruning the world

Between folds of new leaves She left ashes of him

Edith knows plants don’t die and demand rituals like humans do

~

From the series Edith. Will (probably) make more sense if you read the poem below

Inspired by/ Dedicated to Edith Stoner from the book Stoner by John Williams