Poetry
Partridge, Dixie
Dixie Partridge Out of the Dark The heads of mushrooms were small globes in grasses where they'd come overnight. What sudden promptings had brought them up whole? My son uncovered startled...
...Our wholeness depends too on what we've forgotten, the mirror of dreams...
...He squatted there amazed, signaled me close, and an old recognition came back of things that thrive under darkness, stirrings that draw toward light then channel deeply to dreams...
...My mouth blurted out Swedish:— Gaforsiktight—but I could not translate the words, knew I'd used them well, my aproned grandmother suddenly there among lilacs on her porch behind me...
...Some parts of the past reach and grow until they are something else, or shift like soils into lost silts...
...My son uncovered startled movement when he kicked over a section of log: dark scamperings, tunneled paths slender as veins, slots the shape of watermelon seeds leading down between albino tendrils growing without a trace of green...
...or slip out when we react on impulse...
...18...
...underground twists exert their ways, our stories going on in the dark even when no one js watching...
...The future parades from the past...
Vol. 121 • October 1994 • No. 17
