Mother Wolf

Whimpering wet against my belly,
searching, suckling blind,
you are deaf to my mother song -

the song
that rises from the deepest heat of my belly,
and drifts, gentle, into the sacred blind

of snow and ice, the savage blind
of slow death. I sing the mother song
to silence the growling of an empty belly -

the belly that shiver shelters you - whimpering wet, suckling blind, and deaf to my mother song.

An arctic tritina for Real Toads and dVerse.

Silvered

Sad and silvered are these bones -
safe from sinner's death decay.
Oh, but where you held my heart,
hell's hateful hemlock has its way!

I'm always drawn to the imagery of bones . . .
For Words Count at Real Toads

Close Up 2012

Underside by Jaime Clark

In close up,

stripped of rhetoric,

flag waving,

name calling,

and all other distractions,

it's clear that we're screwed.

For the Sunday Challenge at Real Toads

Letters In A Drawer

I keep your letters in a drawer
under jeans I can't get into
and swimsuits I don't wear.
I keep you there
with things that no longer fit me.
You no longer fit me.

I don't hate you anymore.
But, I can't say for sure I loved you.
It all seems so blurry.
Why was I in such a hurry
to be somebody's girl
as if that's all there was to be?

Your letters in a drawer
are like ashes in an urn.
When I'm feeling funeral black,
I let them take me back,
not to the corpse of you,
but to the ghost of me.

For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads

Watermelon

We fall

sticky
in the fresh cut grass.

Fingers
seed slick.
Legs
vined.

We kiss

lips
watermelon wet

from the sweet suck
of flesh from the rind.