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Post by MoonyLuna on Mar 3, 2009 12:34:28 GMT -5
You give me the slip between garlic and lilies, as if this is what comes of my unprotected loves, of my hands in the sweet earth, their willful miscegenation of the border bed where you're tucked in deep with tulips, too, like just one more of their heart-freaks: a fluke diamondine flake, a thin vein gone gold. Being mine, you'll grow up a girdled tree, girt with a ringed-around root, nothing like the fruitful vine of good wives—one of which I'll never be so, my not-love-knot, you may as well come up instead like a kiss: the one wind gives to rouse the Japanese maple, October's aerialist, its bright aureole in the last late sun a red mouth, opening.
Copyright Sarah Barber
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Post by MoonyLuna on Mar 3, 2009 12:35:19 GMT -5
Featured Poet Sarah Barber
Sarah Barber is a doctoral candidate in creative writing at the University of Missouri. Her poems appear widely.
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