April 26, 2016

In a secret place among the rocks by Ann Howells

              a mound of butterflies stunned
by sudden chill huddle, wings misted damp.

Moss carpets humus-rich forest floors,
vast miniature forests—tiny lives lived out
among virgin timber barely one-inch tall.

Creeper vine and honeysuckle, sun-seekers,
stretch along telephone lines; fern unfurls
between water smoothed stones.

I’d forgotten this, and little locusts springing
like dandelions, topiary kudzu-shapes,
trees so tall, everything green, green, green.

Old settlements and waters labeled long ago
speak the Piscataway tongue: Nanjemoy,
Accokeek, Potomac, Patuxent, Chesapeake.

I remember though the big white house
at the center of the world, kettle simmering,                                   
doors flung wide. 







Ann Howells has edited Illya’s Honey for sixteen years, recently taking it digital: www.IllyasHoney.com and alternating issues with a new co-editor. If interested, check her Amazon page for further information.

3 comments:

  1. Another wonderful poem today. Makes the reader want to experience it in the flesh. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. great poem, love the line - vast miniature forests—tiny lives lived out

    ReplyDelete
  3. great poem, love the line - vast miniature forests—tiny lives lived out

    ReplyDelete