Wednesday, December 3, 2008
One day, she plants a great tree
in the image of man, culled
tiny brown seeds taken from cored bounties
leftover, pies baked and eaten warm.
She moves fingers through rich soil,
spayed earth moist and gathering
under nails; places each polished hope, gingerly.
Nestled in the corner, guarded by old
weathered legs, crossed keepers of the rains
and snows and sun-dappled summers.
Starling's golden tritons between blacktop brambles
all gorging till beaks come away
berry-stained and full.
She waters his roots with her purple can,
speaks to him in kind
while trimming long blades with shears,
laughing at herself, to him,
and blushes cheeks into apples.
She drips ruby nectar down his throat
stolen from the hummer's bell feeder
when his branches begin, buds curling out,
and iridescent bodies swirl around her,
new northern lights.
When he comes to her strong and constant,
she lies beneath him, rusty fingers reach
to touch her face, gold tears floating
in the brush of reality.
And she reads him volumes of Poe and Pound,
questions the universe and space, knowing
he won't ever answer her the truth,
but attempt every time.
He is there when seasons turn,
their heart growing, in him and he never
pushes her back or away,
and she will smile,
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Aleathia Drehmer is currently trying to hibernate for the winter, but not having much success. She is an active staff member for The Guild of the Outsider Writers. She lives with her darling daughter and crazy cat, Carrot, in rural Painted Post, NY. She has been lucky enough to be published in many online and print journals over the last few years. She is even luckier to have great friends and one damned patient boyfriend.