[major revisions -- but I'm not sure the form will survive email --
dropped lines]
Four days without cigarettes
and how can I whine
when dry
snow drifts in the cold and the sea
takes one hundred and fifty
thousand. I pull my
quilts around me, this knitted
scarf, this crocheted
hat, these dogs
to keep me warm with no need
to think of eating them.
The sea now peopled
with inedible creatures, half-fish half-
human. One does not
fork the flesh
of one's brother. The animals ran
before them to high
ground and hidden
places, elephants clambering
with their great sensitive feet
away away
from the trembling earth
and the demoned sea. Juncos
feed on the seed
I've scattered on the snow.
Siskins wait at the squirrel feeder.
Will those who are left
grow into disappointment
that none are who
they lost this day?
Or will they find
in each other
some consoling love?
On Wed, 5 Jan 2005 15:19:18 -0700, Sharon Brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Four days without cigarettes
> and how can I whine when dry
--
Sharon Brogan
http://www.sbpoet.com
|