Snail
Holladay, Hilary
Hilary Holladay Snail Twisting around at the sound of wind I inch below ice patched with oak leaves. It is winter, nearly Christmas. I ooze a trail of joy-Nobody sees my contentment with drainage...
...I ooze a trail of joy-Nobody sees my contentment with drainage problems, decaying roots...
...I am random I am good I am a closed eye staring at God...
...And the footsteps bearing down on my fragile domain make mv soul smile tor I am still as stone, the inhaled breath of a holy scene...
...While you're all traveling buying gifts I'm here, where humus grows...
Vol. 122 • December 1995 • No. 21
