Picnic With My Youth
The forest has become a graveyard
and I've lost myself
in the umber eyes of a hungry doe.
Her timid nibble at my hostas
makes me envy their bells against her lips.
I spread my skirt,
white on the ground around my knees -
a new-moon picnic in ivory
at your grave side.
Dew-silvered spider strands dance
across your name
where wasted dandelion seeds sway,
stuck like an unwanted melody
in the mind of the maker.
And there,
in the darkness I reach for you
and sing you to sleep.
Poetry
Bravo
ReplyDeleteE - in my semi-conscious state this AM, I somehow missed this beauty. Simply stunning.
ReplyDeleteAwww You're too kind! But really, I'm not THAt pretty!.... ohhhh, you mean the poem!
ReplyDeletehaha thanks Erin, glad you enjoyed this. I really had to work at this one to make it work for me... glad it works :)
I've returned to this several times and each time it deepens.
ReplyDeletePatry,
ReplyDeleteThat's a wonderful compliment. Thank you!
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ReplyDelete