It is easy you see,
easy to get into me—
easy as it is for August to get into the sun.

Pincushion woman—tell me,
what secrets do you keep?
You who lies behind the rose of your tongue.

Hurricanes blow clouds, clouds, clouds off
the shore to my great off-mountain town,

my sit-down town,
my have-a-drink town. Leadful clouds
that drag the bottom of the sky down with them.

I haven’t felt this dark since I was lost in the woods
and a spider crawled into my braid.

Pinch my every wish.
Watch the daffodils festoon.
It is easy you see, easy to get into me.



© 2004 by Jenni Russell