So Many Days

I am a waterfall, the weight which pulls down constantly;
a fork, its tines twisted and useless;
a witch wanting to take babies from their mothers
because everyone should know how empty I feel.
I am like Scotland, rubbed raw of her Caledonian forests;
a bird frantically wanting to make nests;
an old teacup with a rotten egg.

I want to be hope on the horizon of a distant ship;
a comfort to those at my breast;
all daisies and dragonflies.
I wait, I count days, so many days