Shira Dentz
Returning
Sunflowers spoke from
the sides
of their mouths
without taking a break,
even for lunch.
At summer’s end,
their petals were harvested
for fabric, like silk,
to be patched together
as baby blankets.
Ever onward, the petals
stayed soft though shorn
from sustenance;
somehow whatever was
in their veins stayed;
the words that came out
sideways had sealed
an undercurrent
that gave rise.
Karen Brennan, photo
Karen Brennan
—from An Album
Shadow
A river bed asway, a step away, imaginary track & crumbs swept up circuitous. Duly noted in the rough patch, advisory to trail but not diminish. One stroke plus another swart flatness on the plain, on the concrete page; what she read after she read the phrase before; emblazoned imprints like little ants parading. Indeed, ‘twas comprehended.
Apiary
Transgression of the multiple. A drone escapes into a tree, a little spasm there. Inside a thing, a queen peeks, a girl unleashed & buzzed & keeps on buzzing naughtily. A drought, a draft, a flammable cough the fluff turns in. Like looking into beams or warrens full of asteroids. poppy bush surrounding lawn. A bold lawn, a pulchritude of boulders.
Karen Brennan, photo