The Editors

 

 

Yes, they came calling

(the spine and parchment guys)

for  poems or prose -- like pressed flowers

to souvenir each page.

 

My muse roused herself

from morning sleep.  Naive girl

chambered in a shell, curtained

in the billowing white

of her breath.  The pure

scent of excitement.

 

Yes, they came wanting

(the pen and proofread men) clippings

of  thought  rooted in her scalp

and instinct in her nails

that dug so deftly

underneath the fence, a secret earth. But I

 

dabbed her lips

with seaweed and brine; their word

was never made certain. Only a maybe

skimming the tide, the prospect,

like a shore bird winged in gray.

___________________________________________

The beautiful painting is by artist, Michal Swider.