Produced by Dennis Camire
This week’s poem is by Lisa Moore of Harrison, leader of the Mountain Poets Society.
Queen Anne in Winter
By Lisa Moore
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish.
William Carlos Williams
Come October, I watch Queen Anne change face.
She hunches, her stalk brittle, her roots dry.
A musty gray tarnishes the lace
That she has been crocheting since July.
At night, the harsh winds hush.
Mild breezes stir a memory of whiteness worn
In August’s lush and clover-tangled bed
Where she billowed with desire, blind and wild,
Inebriate of air and full of grace.
The blemish fades. She tucks her head.
She closes in as if she holds a child,
For hold she must.
As she waits to die and then to be reborn,
In winter’s mirror, she sees her daughter’s face.
Dennis Camire can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org