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LAce Posted Monday, March 6th, 2006
in the beginning
Maggie Shurtleff

heavy green arms of trees
willow down upon the moss
laden rocks tickling
tips of lichen, winking
to heather's purple wine

golden rods seep through canopy,
enticing the underbelly
to look up and swallow
all sun has to give.

this day, the caws and whinings
of birds and beetle are heard
by sun—he warms them unasking
for anything in return.

as the morning dew heats and feeds
all who accept; golden rods turn
to orange fingers, delighting dragonfly
whipping over water- as snapper surfaces
to tongue the day away
and feel night kisses upon chinks

as hollows' need to grow dark, and shadows
see their way through wanting foliage
brushing against the breast of them, wetting,
until moon, shines light on their discretions.

she smiles lovingly at her children; desires them
to know each other so. they, ripe shafts and buds,
embrace—as her warm milk quenches their thirst,
lulling them to sleep, bare.

the evening awakes, slithers and hoots
and howls sing their hauntings
as primrose spread their lips fornicating air,
mud frogs press sticky fingers against sky,
she, moon drips all. this night, folds us

into flesh pulsing limbs, soaked in orgasmic rhythm-
we drink mother until drunk and spent, then wait
for father, to feed us once again.

Comments [post a comment]

Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Monday, March 6th, 2006 at 10:14 PM
A sensual,visual feast and I'm not surprised. Nonnie

Posted by Sean Farragher [ greatriverpress@gmail.com ] on Monday, March 6th, 2006 at 11:37 PM
We are fed by your poem dear lovely Maggie. You nurture us with your intense exploration of your self seeking the reduction of the past to just that a source -- You show words to be a places where suffering resolves into adult joy. Sean Farragher



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