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Dancing With the Women in the MoonBy Carolyn Martin QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: From her book The Way a Woman Knows (Portland, Oregon: The Poetry Box, 2015) Feminine? Never felt the feel. She chews her fingernails and spits out garden dirt. Guess I’ll die curious in dungarees and army boots She leans against the wood-worn fence
—nonchalant, disinterested—until the Wind, gathering its nerve, strips gravity and surfs her up a Douglas fir. From trunk to crown, juncos, sparrows, jays escape and clear her way through moon-grey clouds to Mothers, Maidens, Crones dancing on lava plains. Let it out, she hears their song. In circles nothing hides. She watches hard —magnetized by breasts, hips, kohled eyes inviting her to join their nakedness. Someone grabs her hand, strokes her face. Someone rouses flush-on-flesh. No shame or blush. No retreat from who they are-- harems on the moon’s nearside. Have I been here before? she shouts in ecstasy. They wrap her in one bold embrace. Let it out! She dances hard, oblivious of the earth-bound Wind spying through the clouds. Comments12/8/2016 11:45:03 am
I see Carolyn dancing although not a dance familiar to others unless the sun captivates you, water entices you, brilliant color surrounds & sweet smells of summer gently remind you, this is where you share your dance.
gareth culshaw
12/8/2016 06:45:36 pm
Very good poem... Comments are closed.
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