ode to a woman, kneeling
in the damp, bosomy earth
(and i love how she loves the coolness of it)
she is not penitent
nor mad
only patient as a nun
she trowels through
layers of virginal, heavy soil
groggy from the winter's sleep
the worms of knowing
shuffle in their own slow way
their safe passage guaranteed
every apologetic gouge at the giving ground
uncovers odd shelvings
of her own laminated life-
objects recovered:
a baby rattle unused
blue bottles of dewy desire
red ribbons that once wound round
an afternoon's stirring
she tosses them all in the bucket
at her clammy side
each with a sharp clank
or dull thud
her fine head rises now
like a whited mute sail over waves
of milky green grass
the blushing azaleas bloom on her cheeks
and the sturdy shovel nearby
shrinks from her view
like a well-spent lover
she is content to cultivate herself
growing centimeters then
like the tiny sweet-pea plants
attached to their riggings
beauteous in their
entrapment
REGINA GREEN is happily published in some very fine on-line literary magazines including the fine line, Contemporary American Voices, and Full of Crow. Her inspiration and heroes include Sylvia Plath, Anais Nin, and contemporary poets Marty McConnell and Lisa Zaran. She writes from a small desk in her home in Marietta, GA and wishes there were more than 24 hours in a day. Poetry is the blossom on her stem.
