Page 3 - Contrast1976Decemberv20n1

Ivy

With hooks, my metaphors
spiraZ toward you,
you who are tendPilled
to this house
like swollen memories.

Oonqueren,

MY attia view is alasped

in your verdant war-danae,

MY thoughts are Zattiaed

to your wormy triumphs;
the dying bones of this house,
the history you seized fPom the briaks.
Like ivy,
I wreathe the house
in memory.

- Jennifer Watts

Coming into this void
fragile hands

spindly fingers probing

pinching an ancient word
until it screams

and disappears

tearing, mending, playing
the bird sings

the poet weeps

- Linda Mig!