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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3283 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week Vineyard Nature Laurie Byro From the porch, Nathaniel watches a woman by a window through thick and wavy glass. She picks bits of thread through a cloth with her sturdy needle. She nips a strand with her teeth. The crisscross of the curve of letter unravels, cardinal reds, scarlet purple. He writes her strong and straight like the oak outside his door. No bend to her, she will bow, she will not break. A foghorn interrupts his pen. He loves her black-eyed warble, the spidery line that resolves her mouth as he passes her on the street. She is round as an oyster, Her baby will be a pearl. The seed she carries will be a speck of sand in the fathers’ eyes. A gull shrieks and chases her worn gray skirts. He places a period at the end of a long sentence. While on a winter walk, Nathaniel discovers a white-bleached skeleton of a baby cormorant. He notes the bones that make up its wings, the resiliency of pursuit and flight. Eliza won’t marry him, but he doesn’t know that yet. He’ll only make love to her on crisp sheets of white paper. |
