Thursday, August 21, 2014
Two Poems by Theresa A. Cancro
Berceuse In Terra
Each rumble of the 'quake
holds in its grip last gasps,
babies' first breaths, end tucked in
at the beginning, a heart tremor,
lost as it falls.
Blue sky catatonic soon folds
with swells off the reef, isn't truly
shaken. Cloud eyes dim, brighten
when pressed to the sea,
taken to cradle.
Long striations on the horizon
mimic uneven lengths of energy
fingers clawing thin crusts
through scree, pumice,
plied clay and rocking beds.
Earth crack elongated by sun's glare
carries bright songs birds continue
to warble, while it rends the selvage of
sateen hours: in complacence,
gaping wide, it exhales.
I probe the air, the ant byways
for luxe grass, foliate limbs,
seek in the margins for scraps
from last summer, scathed
to lacy bits along garden walls.
I pray to the ether for rains
to heal the ice burn among magnolia,
limp under gray prism light breaching
tired clouds. Nimbus waifs hunger
above, long to lap at misty trails.
I provide moments of un-
orchestrated reverie, am loathe
to leave the gate open, fear
these scattered keepsakes
might be wrangled away.
I pluck recalcitrant motes from my eyes,
while aeolian murmurs issue
above the curve of blooming tulips,
snowdrops and smug violets
that shield faces from northern gales.
Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware) writes poetry and fiction. Many of her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in print and online publications, including Napalm an Novocain, Pyrokinection, Kind of a Hurricane Press anthologies, Dead Snakes, Kumquat Poetry, Leaves of Ink, The Artistic Muse, A Hundred Gourds, Cattails, Shamrock Haiku Journal, Chrysanthemum, and tinywords, among others.