Hi grasshopper,
Hey, a canny poem! I like it (the poem, I mean!).
Interesting that I, too, wondered about the furrow image - perhaps because
it's close to a mattress that aches, and follows a marvelous phrase "narrow
vacancy" (I thought it might be a lot of imagery to take it in a short space
of time). But I also thought, that it may be because I'm a guy and this
poem, all the way through and despite the balances of starting sentences
with He and She - seems to work from a feminine perspective. It's often the
case that whenever sex gets mentioned in a poem that's offered in a mixed
group it's often the blokeys who want to adjust the words...
And I'm glad your imagery hasn't seeped into my dreams!
Bob
>From: grasshopper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub::The Night Emile's Mistress Turned into a Cat
>Date: Sat, 22 Mar 2003 08:45:34 -0000
>
>The Night Emile's Mistress Turned into a Cat
>
>
>She raised one arm above her head.
>That was the start of it, a smooth
>stretch of muscle, a lengthening of bone.
>She was resting on exhausted sheets,
>fingertips touching the wooden bedhead.
>He heard the scrape of nails.
>
>He lay beside her, drowsy with coming,
>and drifted into dreams, her rump spooned
>in his belly, firm against his soft sex.
>He awoke to a narrow vacancy,
>her furrow parched and empty.
>The mattress ached.
>
>She left a ghost of warmth
>and three golden hairs on the pillow,
>glowing like marmalade. Sometimes
>he hears a serenade in the lane
>beneath his window.
>
>Queans sing when they disengage,
>briefly, bitterly, then they lick, clean,
>clean, forget.
>
> grasshopper
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