SageGreenJournal.org voices out of the West, mostly poetry, personal to planetary...
W E T I L T N O W. The sun slides off the
mountain shelf and crawls home on
dusty knees toward the tawny hillside
where our no longer adolescent summer dumps
her wilting cargo & slumps
upon the valley floor as if into a lawn chair shoes off carefree.
Bees work the asters . Bears rake the plum .
Under the burdened ash ripe with red
berries Edna's fire bush blushes pink.
I L I V E inside a golden bubble
for an hour in late summer
when the low glowing morning light
glitters the walls of my cabinet
as the geese modulate lakeside
no longer sleepy silent silhouettes
but awake breaking the glass top
of water suddenly with wild wings
shoveling water water everywhere
rumps and toes in the autumn air
aloft with the sun splashing daylight
into rainbows in my little room.
W H A T we raised i bury now
whacking summer's wilting purtenance
into a cold heap
deconstructing Helen's paradise
i want to kiss the callused peas before they sleep.
What we planted and what grew endures
in soft memories as back to dirt i shake and shovel
UDavid's crude sweep
my grave hands yanking wasted vines and limbs.
Whatever we have borne and loved
we cannot keep.
Big Arm, Montana 2003 & 2005
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Portland , Oregon
Rosita Bigsky is the nom de plume used by northwest poet Nancy Starbuck during her long sojourn on the shores of Montana's Flathead Lake. Her first book of poems is now in preparation by Western Eye Press in Colorado.
photo Lucinda Whiffin
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