Posts Tagged With: Diane LeBlanc

Postcard from the Midwest by Diane LeBlanc

February is a season of false returning:

a bat dives through bending wheat,

then rises and disappears into a scar of trees;

geese stomp like colorless clowns

through muddy rodeo grounds;

ice gives back the blue bicycle

tossed into last year’s river, tires missing

as if it’s not enough to be sinking otherwise whole.

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Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

I Ask the Moon by Diane LeBlanc

The azaleas, this year without leaves,

are all lip and bone.

 

Feminine of azaleos, the word

means dry.

 

Old lore says to plant beans

during a waxing moon.

 

But first sit naked

in the garden at night.

If you sink or for a minute settle,

almost sprout, it’s time to plant.

 

So I go naked beneath my plaid robe

and bend to sniff the soil.

 

The azaleas urge: toe the mulch,

unbutton your knees and squat.

 

After five months of winter, to be alone

with such possibility.

Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

Fruit of Withdrawal by Diane LeBlanc

I’ve kept it too long

in a colander balanced against

a banana curve of joy,

 

afraid to taste its skin

and reach a stone even rain can’t dissolve

into a scatter of moons,

 

afraid it holds no seed of mercy

to be placed in my mouth

when I’m buried, no means

 

to reclaim grace like Adam whose tongue shot forth

from seeds of the forbidden fruit

a cypress, a cedar, an olive,

 

afraid I no longer believe

the last thing rooting in my mouth should be

a tree thirsting for tears.

Categories: Issue 2 - Spring 2012, Periodicals, Poetry | Tags: | Leave a comment

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