Nature is fat with poetry. There is
proof: a bud’s dying breath is tender
fruit, the leaves that don’t fall are
needles, man-made necessities are
buried miles within her, she forgets us
as quietly as she centers us, rudimentary limbs are
not completely without merit. Nature is
not a whore. She is waiting for someone special.
She is a witch doctor without a vacuum
or sterile instruments, just a gentle blood-
letting and then raw truth—
so real it can never have not happened.
Never speaking of guilt, she won’t repossess
our will, our pulsing organs—she knows
where we are and when… askingonly that we trust and tidy up
before we go. We are asymmetrical
beneath our skin, as imperfect as Northern Lights.
Jacqueline Markowski is a writer of poetry and short stories. She lives in Charlotte, NC where she divides her time between writing and being a homeschooling mother. Her poetry has appeared in Chronogram Magazine, Cochlea/The Neovictorian and Permafrost Literary Journal. She was awarded first place in poetry during the 2006 Sandhills Writers Conference. She is currently working on a compilation of short stories but who’s she kidding- she’ll never finish.
I love this. Each time I read it, it "tells" me more. I was drawn in right from the first line.ReplyDelete