Nat’l Poetry Month 7/30 & 8/30

Since I was at the river this weekend, I didn’t get to add two poems on here. BUT I did write one each day in my journal on the dock. I think you’ll be able to tell they were written on the river…Such a wonderful thing…to get out and write somewhere completely different. It’s as though the landscape gets INTO the writing. I think it very much does. I think I’ll have to go to the river more often, or at least try writing outside more often…no titles yet.


I place my hands in the water

And you talk to me

Slow butterfly above howl

As I stand and take,

Even the trees, into me.


The plainness of April, but

Underneath, spring-wind

Lifting the winter-waiting

Until I feel you, surprised

Walking across the river

Into the neighbor’s cow-field.

Is that my breath or a bird

Calling all the flowers, freaks?


The frogs fantasize their bodies

Balloons. I know the weight

They understand—in waiting

There’s a kind of hope that,

Swallowed, tastes of berries


All the buried men—

Shaken-dirt, dancing

Into me. Only you keep

Going. I twirl toward town

Talking of table-cloths, happy

At once, fish-fathered girl.



The snake sang on the bank

Belted about being born empty


Let us fill, he said, each need

Twice. He took to swimming


Beside me because I was lonely

And asked, What do you dance for


The belt around my waist became

A river. All the fish found me naked


Then I knew, bodies were made

To be broken, loved. This song,


The snake sang, keep near

To your belly. I became a wild


Dancer yet again. Keep going.

The river woke. Night-birds


Hid in fear. Eggs began to appear

And I, the woman, ate in silence


Every last stone-bread

Of the buried men’s hearts.


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