Et Aliae
Barb
The assertive pedestrian throws her weight
off the curb. It is her right of way and
the law. Everyone knows the notable red;
the confident green. And only yellow
in-between. Even foreigners see
the easy rule. Barb crosses
correctly with her common
sense. On the corner a sign
agrees: WALK
Tamila
He is precise like copper wire.
Demanding as mathematics.
My love for him the electric
one a telephone has for the bell.
When I am wrong he rings
me silly;
shocks me to higher
protests of my love.
Babette
Babette worries she might
set fire. Her second husband
isn't horny and her lover
hasn't called. Why even
dogs and pecans want
the press of human hands.
It's natural, she says ...
all life to be as one.
Patty
Immersed in a flesh-tone Jesus
light she warmed and waited for a woman's
word from Him. His glass eye glowed.
Scanned the sanctuary with the fixed,
unblinking sun. Daily unswerving parabolas
said nothing but gathered her in.
Criss
It's time to get
home and fix supper,
but into her ear cool
nouns from the vegetable
world and meat of all names
are laid. Paring or coring she mixes
raw words. Serves them together
on a page.
Sara
Ten years since the moon turned out of time.
My monthly smell of raw meat just a thought
I walk beneath the February sky
behind my house, feet ringing on the frost.
In fullness turns
the graphic field of stars.
Though there's much I've learned in 60 years,
the wind shakes gently and I stop to hear
dry pods rattle on a living branch.
Artemus
In moon time she
goes into the water to give
back what the sweet grain gave.
She hears ancestor
voices.
Those who made blood;
made her white hidden bones.
Walking the red road,
they tell this and more,
"She who has God
wears a garment of corn."
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--Liz Linton |