Midway on the Lawn
bleeding hearts flit butterfly
all wings and pouchy-pink
delicate, extended wand-like
with the carney’s winking skill
leading me away from my mowing
helpless mark amidst dangling wares
I cut the engine and lean
under pine’s green awning
lured by cotton-candy scent
and the barker’s call—
Step Right Up!
Try Your Luck!
win this exquisitely petaled string
Schist Villages
we are all schist in the end
a few consonants away from dirt and mire
layered in striations of this hurt and that
balanced against beauty—
the dragonfly dart
the thrum of nectar seekers
stacking our stones back to steady
whole villages rise from shaled slate
gray stone walls lean sunward
strong in storm right in rain
layer upon layer toppled by time
and yesterday’s ruin
scattered, this lugged weight
a thing we reach for
stack again and again
Bionote
Ann Fisher lives in the foothills of the Green Mountains, though she is not the first, nor the last to call that land home. She is the fiction co-editor for Mud Season Review. Ann’s poetry and prose have appeared in Switch, ZigZaglitMag, AboutPlaceJournal, The South Shore Review, Plainsong, and McQueen’s Quinterly, among others. Her work includes two nominations for the Pushcart Prize. www.annfishervt.com
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