Saturday, May 28, 2011

Jennifer Ley


I thought this was the season of the resurrection,

the time when we unwrapped our shrouds and

found new skin, shed the carapace of so many

unoriginal sins. I thought the only stones

were those rolled wide to set the risen free,

not those hurled by other hands, nor rocks

that worked their way into my clutch, cutting

deep. I thought I was supposed to speak

in tongues, bud from bulb in sunny

comprehension. Tomorrow the resurrection

may light my lips and face. But tonight I wait

crouched close to earth, a crocus fearing frost.

Copyright © 1999, 2000 by Jennifer Ley. All rights reserved.

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