Cover photo by Don Spencer
"This is the story of Maud the body...and the story told to Maud—in poems
that are wholly sure-footed, despite the difficult terrain."
—from the Introduction by Jane Mead
SAMPLE POEM
As the Centuries March Forward and Backward
The shape of a woman's body pressed into sand,
a shape the wind carries away,
spread grain by grain over all bodies
of water and land.
And us.
That is just how much I wanted us
to feel the sweat trickling along the backs of our necks,
the fire casting away shadows, our hands warm.
That is just how much I wanted us to go into the fields,
to sleep in the sun on top of that ridge,
to sleep in spite of all the countries falling around us,
and because of them.
A map of the continents not yet separated,
one body of ocean, a map
where we haven't left the water yet to climb
the trees, or walk knuckle-down across grassy savannas.
Think of us as single cells
starting from scratch.
In the best of worlds, there is a way
to heal; in the best of worlds,
we do it for something,
for someone, ourselves.
A wrist bone, thin, unbreakable,
a country, small but taking its own shape.
It's getting late.
© 1998 by Terri Drake
At the Seams
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