April 15.
The mother of cornfields arrives hungry
I move the distress planchette through the woods
where bloody dock grows in fairy clumps an owl
keeps sentry in the cedar some for my pocket
clomp clomp a bread horse trots feverish
along the seawall asks how to discharge his energy
safely in a community I push the distress planchette
further into the forest where three deer drink
from the Little River runoff to the tide flats the blue
lipped clams jellyfish on the sand brilliant hubcaps
halfway through April and language has fled me
my troubles washed in the blood of the spring lamb
sent to slaughter the other lamb who died
for our dinner a robin joins the sentry owl
together they watch my life get smaller
posted by Radish King at 4:41 PM
3 Comments:
This is how I feel every Easter. I wish I could wander the forest with you, weaving such wonder with threads of melancholy.
Oh honey. Me too.
Oh dear- gawd i do love your think meat!! I love your wanderings in the place where you live! Lamb dinner is better than lamb for no reason.
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