December 2024
Bio Note: I am an author/artist of multiple books. Neither my dogs or cats care about prizes won nor book launches, only that delicious meals are served on time. Sometimes a dragon roosts on our barn roof.
Autumn Promise
You blink, memory shocks you,
the second your hands sink into
warmth...You remember
the love of a woman, the spread,
her welcome wrapping your hips,
burn of your waist's muscles.
You enter, striving, you butt and shove
like a weanling, your mouth open, nose running
salt. Wind washes your face with your hair.
You grunt with each thrust, your foot
sore on the spade after the first 30 bulbs.
Tears smear mud on your cheeks.
You clasp your hands, knees in the dirt;
this is prayer.
A Promise
They push heads, shoulders above the surface, entrenched bald GIs,
weathered, oblivious to sun cancer or snipers. I rummage loam.
“Take us.” Demands their big leader, dirt-ingrained scar one side of his face.
He squints at me.
“Its the right thing. I’ll summon the others. Better you than rodents.”
They cluster behind, beneath him, my fingers pry clumps, a red dragonfly
hovers near. His village here two generations, one hinged grandfather,
three.
Leave the children. They are
too small to eat.
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