The Jilting of Mary Brown: Platonic Poem to a Young Girl Just Married: Fertility: Untitled:
Busch, Trent & Otten, Charlotte F. & Myers, Joan Rohr & Petrie, Paul
Trent Busch The Jilting of Mary Brown Telling the woman easily and politely she couM not steep * irttHe tern, the last man oeariy a cigarette into the straw. Could tell she smoked,...
...At 58...
...that 1 am most close to everything alive the wet breath ftat hnks leaves and sky to my lungs reaches deep inside my body and stirs the silent seeds of all I hold dear, and you, like the powerful muscle we call heat, grow stronger within me Charlotte F. Often Unfitted A friend dreamed I bad given birth...
...Could tell she smoked, yellow of her shape would have to be firm As easily and petite ly shot the sbort-broeled gun, twice in the chest and the soft pool of blood under the porch light outside hia door...
...What live again...
...The spruce trees lie...
...Prison then, child grown to become prince of fctfoyn, her liot knowing why he would give her no room, and the tall father gone who wotid bring her rich presents should she remain tme and raise her a idBgdom and sceent it mill myrrh Joan Rohr Myers rortUlty It Is now, when the w^iole Jar of humidity has been poured on me like wet petals, and there is no question of dryness anywhere...
...PaulPetrie Platonic Poom to a Young Girl Just Married I wished to hold your face between my hands— and feel the light stream through my fingers—warm, ruddy, sweet—like light from a lantern's heart...
...But like the bloody oak, marooning to the sky, Delivering birth to earth, I am now most alive Because I die...
...Now through die fingers of another man your beauty moves—more passionate, mono free— and escapes—as through your own bnked fingers it must slip out, dissolve, turn dark, be gone Suns spend their giant powers on the night, their fiery wattage dwindling into points...
...Sarah laughing at God's visitors, Angels chasing wind, Aborted fetal stone, The oak outside my window tells &e trtith...
...and even the stones, trapped in unyielding forms, long for die rain's downfailing, die hands of air Desire is a dying into air Love leads as out—out of oar own strict forms towards other forms that as we touch them melt, ray out like suns and are lost—but whose nch tight falls backwards, shining, into the lantern's heart...
...Joan Rohr Myers Green Apples through thick air that you speak to yourself of green apples fallen on thin grass in an orchard they wait to be lifted, to be pressed like hard hearts in the bowl of a hand they wffl hold their sweet secrct until csaty your face can touch the clean juice can float in the fall of perfume...
...I shall not bear a child as spruce Bear snow to heaven, a sacrifice in while...
Vol. 112 • July 1985 • No. 13
