December 21, 2018

M. Stone’s Passionate Poetry

M. Stone’s Passionate Poetry

Tryst

mid-afternoon
the hotel corridor is quiet
outside our room where feeble light
dulls bleached sheets
 
later on when the sky is due
to erupt and hasten darkness
wrapped in a fog shroud
I have a fifty-mile drive home
 
but right now I am malleable
beneath your calloused palms
 
I am a well-fed bird eager to settle
within the coarse and tender
the flesh-and-bone
nest of you


Unincorporated Places


at night you drive, alert for deer and drunks
while I gaze west, my retinas gather the glow
of stray porch lights and second-story windows
 
from communities tucked into collarbone hollows
along the interstate, which reeks of a paper mill
 
some of their names I mispronounce, but you never
correct the strange syllables in my mouth


Tenuous is the Thread


chaos barely constrained
by butterfly wings that make figure eights
 
yet tectonic plates
gnash their teeth and continents break
 
could be a low-flying plane
or seismic shudder
 
either way the dust is disturbed—
a flurry of near-microscopic birds
 
and the concrete slab fractures
as earth swallows this house in one slow gulp


Eve’s Burden


Since I do not plan to become pregnant
 
the doctor suggests endometrial ablation
 
and I hear it as oblation.
 
Unfamiliar with the word,
 
I return to the office and grab my battered dictionary.
 
Oblation: the act of offering something to God.


***

M. Stone is a bookworm, birdwatcher, and stargazer living in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in San Pedro River Review, UCity Review, formercactus, and numerous other journals. Find her on Twitter @writermstone and at writermstone.wordpress.com.

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