Follow by Email

Search This Blog

Monday, October 24, 2011


This one by way of Megan Snyder-Camp Lehman ...


A summer Taos sunset in your hand.
The weight of a small child’s fist,
a girl, resisting sleep as she sleeps.
The shape of a chicken angel’s egg.
Eros’s lovely clefted backside
in velvet. Fleshy
as a horse’s lazy, lower lip.
A faraway fragrance:
juniper in gin, that slow gin
What God saw on the eighth day, and ate, and said of it—
way good. The woody stone we worry-gnaw when death’s near,
when we’re toothless again as babies,
trying to keep a great thought small.

Deborah Slicer

No comments: