Friday, April 15, 2022

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

3 Comments:

Blogger 37paddington said...

This is how I feel every Easter. I wish I could wander the forest with you, weaving such wonder with threads of melancholy.

April 16, 2022 at 5:29 AM  
Blogger Ms. Moon said...

Oh honey. Me too.

April 16, 2022 at 7:00 AM  
Blogger Linda Sue said...

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.

April 16, 2022 at 9:01 AM  

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