The Farmer Takes a Wife
What seeds have you started, the gardener
asks the gardener?
The kids down the hill shacked up, dogs and
snow-shoes. Long mornings heaven
on earth then, and the woodpecker with his bright cap
tips his gaze, contemplates abundance,
suet in a cage and off he flies in snowy air.
A certain friendship ends
when to apologize would be to admit too much.
She did so mean me harm. Seed
of my discomfort, stone in the shoe, rock me
down snowmelt, boulders rising black furnaces
storing nuclear heat of space, fields shrink back revealing
bare ground of blast site. What I lack
in subtlety make up in violence.
Snow-fields glaring light on such
a dark day. Black cups of soil, under bulbs'
fluorescent urge, seed sprouts root hair
that splits the rock
upending earth, oh what have you
done this time
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4 comments:
this is hard and makes me feel comletely retarded.
love,
Rebecca-the-wimp, day 2
Hard to read? Uh-oh. Maybe I"M retarded..
no, writing everyday is hard. your poem is sublime.
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