Wednesday, January 7, 2015

From Volume 35: A poem by Jackie Anne Morrill

Jackie Anne Morrill


Cantaloupe as a cure-all, or how I know my mother



When the bones settle

these metals we are made of

finally loosen


I long to untie

the velvet bag

of river stones

residing in her back


piling              piling


Her voice the first time

my cotton undies crusted

with a red foreign ache

she scooped sherbet-

colored melon into a bowl


Now eat.


“Write me a nice poem,” she says

“something nice and understood.”


What’s left?

The daffodils on my coffee table

muscular stems, belled snouts

the reason you gave me to spring:


Persephone has returned.

No comments:

Post a Comment