Wild Making
Blackbirds in pairssun hot enough to lean back on
supported by the force of heat
looking for somewhere quiet
there is a wildness rising.
He said you couldn't grow a witch on chalk
I see flint
but I don't see my granite my slate my gold my quartz.
Snail shells
Water in
Called by the lake
Now mini lakes.
The madness kept from
devouring me.
I laugh at the slight of hand,
the slight of thought,
and scramble into the moss carpeted hedge
to the fairy forest
away from eyes
and perch in the tree
until you say it's past twelve.
My ears are red in the wind
I burst out from under cover
and wish for somewhere earthy to lie upon
body to earth body
and if my soul had teeth
she'd be gnashing them right now.
Written: Spring 2016
Poetry by Maija Liepins
Read 792 times
Written on 2017-01-24 at 22:31
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Kathy Lockhart |
