Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,by Mary Oliver, from from Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, especially on the nights I hear them, moaning and scratching at the windows. It’s the coldest January on record. I’ve unlocked the outbuilding,…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery 19 — Hidden Treasure
“Reading what I have just written, I now believe.”–Louise Gluck, from Faithful and Virtuous Night At the time it felt like a dream. One Spring afternoon geocache coordinates took us north an hour and then west for another. GPS dinged we’d reached our destination. Scant undergrowth made it easy to find the two-track. We walked…
dVerse — Prosery 18 — Tanked
[T]here is nothing behind the wallexcept a space where the wind whistles…–from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller I’m floating in aquamarine dialed to an optimal degree. My breasts point to the sky. Bubbles tickle my back. I flap my arms like humpback flippers and hum low, sending a message to my lover. Please…
dVerse — prosery 17 — Starbaby
We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time. – from Hummingbird, by D.H. Lawrence Gerald was born at the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month in the year of the dragon. Unlike his six siblings with blue eyes, Gerald’s glittered like emeralds. He never cried…
dVerse — prosery 16 — Night Feeders
In their dreams they sleep with the moon.–From Mary Oliver, “Death at Wind River” Once pampered, now refugees, at dawn they slink in grimy, forgotten shadows of Oldtown to their den until dusk falls. Their fortress is woven with plastic, glass, and metal discarded by the giver-of-treats who will never again pet their once-luxurious fur….
dVerse — prosery 15 — Red Moon Rise
A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills. — Carl Sandburg, from Jazz Fantasia A red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills. My head tilts just so and I swear the hills are moving like a great dark beast; a shadowy twin of my guilt, following. Red…
dVerse — prosery 14 — The Inperturbable Street
We go in different directions down the imperturbable street. –Gwendolyn Brooks A pair of mourning doves wheels away, startled when the keychain lands near them. “Don’t be a child. You have custody of Merlot,” Gillian says. Harold had never hated himself as much as he did right now. Why had he ignored the red…
