Palmetto Leaf
Convergence--Adam Romanowicz
Palmetto Fan Woman
Palmetto Fan Woman,
in the mockingbird pines
in the white frame church
eight tall windows
and a little stubby steeple,
stirs the air.
and her sisters in the hands
of the women from the scrub
fan fan fan
fan fan fan
back and forth
back and for
in the hands in the front row
hands in the middle
hands at the back by the doors
back and forrards
back and fors
and flies fly in
the windows on the right
palmetto leaf fan shoo shoo shoo
and the waspers
aim come in windows on the left
palmetto women no no no you go on
no no no
shoo shoo shoo
fan fan fan
palmetto leaf woman morning fan
fan fan fan
praisegodfromwhomall bless sings flow
amen amen
in the mockingbird pines
fan fan fan to the heat of day
palmetto leaf fan
amen, amen
amen
the cutting garden
THE CUTTING GARDEN
the wind
like the redeye express
powerful and loud
heavier than air
arrived
like a sickle
secateurs
string blade mower
like a kid
or a farmer
a gardener
or god
swinging a stick
through tall weeds
mowing hay
laying trees
on the ground
long stemmed
shaggy flowers
Return of the fool
I am sad to see The Big Tent fold. The founding sisters have moved on to another project, which includes some inter-referential writing. An interesting idea.
Some things in their work triggered this, so thanks, good ladies
( in the best sense )
reference to
A Fine Kettle of Fish
Where trees used to be Carolee Sherwood
and
The Disguise of Mascaraed Lashes Deb Scott
soil conservation techniques for women
the erosion. we respect it more
than green blankets, or slopes draped
with double crochet pines in files or
space apliqued with that spreading
tree of life. we respect
the erosion like a man
with blue lights and a gun
(or a woman) (with a gun)
it is definition, like a line drawn
or a levee raised on the loose soil
blot up those tears when they have done their work
and your eyes are clear of motes and cinders and those
lashes, thickened with brown mascara because black
was too bold for your face, lashes that washed down
onto the salt pan.
gather up those old discarded lashes
and plant them around the weeping sore
with a spiral magic wand and a dab of brown
and it begins a terraced garden,
more to be respected even than erosion.
feet, centimeters, parsecs, wards
defeat
two leftist effete intellectuals
who measured in parsecs, not yards
ran for November election
but a win wasn’t in the cards.
