Thursday, February 10, 2011

In the Field

In the Field

Here I am,
spread out beneath the dandelion-sun
of autumn, flat on my back
in a field of self pity. Your whispers lift
my skirt and expose the bony knees
of an empty summer.

Here I am,
searching through oak limbs
and heather sprigs for a patch of green
to cherish. Thread my tangled hair
into your nest-egg of lies, like an injured thrush
fluttering out a song. Feather me
in earth-worn promises.

Here I am,
waiting for winter to ice my heart.
Trying to count the berries in a hawthorn
while I pocket acorns and ivy to weave
a wreath, and make a tattered crown
to mark you as my own.

--Karen Kelsay is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee and the editor of  Victorian Violet Press. Her poems have been featured in the following
journals: The Boston Literary Magazine, Triggerfish Critical Review, Toasted Cheese, The Foundling Review and Willow's Wept Review.

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