As One

City girl in woods.

A lake. A pier. Feet submerged.

She squeals. It is cold.

Aching ebbs. She sighs.

Yellow butterfly hovers.

Sharing wing music.

Baby bass swimming.

Fishers. Poles over shoulders.

City girl shooes them.

Feet over pebbles.

Clumsy dance around boulders

to the warblers’ beat.

Fifty feet beneath

limbs, leaves, parting clouds. She sits.

Ants ascend her feet.

Swath of lavender.

City girl does not pick them.

Hawks fly, float overhead.

~

Without Fruit

I sprayed myself

head to toe

anyway,

knowing nothing

would prevent your

rushing at me

like a stream towards a hill,

you wanting to cling to me

as new moss on bark.

I flinch.

I swat.

You, so uninvited

who can blame your desire

to bury yourself in my every orifice

like boulders in soft earth.

Honeybug,

what was it

you wanted to whisper in my ear,

your love language, so earnest.

See those men over there, gathered round whiskey sours?

Go.

Share your woes.

They are mourning inability to lure my presence.

Maybe they will let you have a sip.

Drown your sorrows.

~

Ode to Menopause

One of the things

I am learning to live with

is sweating like a bottle of Pepsi

in the summer

and having to turn off the heat

even in winter

because I am always

hot hot hot.

One of the things

that makes him laugh

is the whirl of my backside

as we cuddle each night,

the caress of his legs

with my legs and feet,

my suckle on his neck,

his chest,

because I am always

hot hot hot.

This morning as I was

peeling and cutting up pineapples,

parsing plump blueberries from the withered,

he walked in and said,

That smells good.

I said, “Yeah.

Look at all the pretty sweet things

God gave us to eat.”

He pressed up on me

slid hands between my thighs,

whispered,

Yes, Lawd.

~

note: keep your eyes peeled for a new chapbook by Carla Cherry published by Grandma Moses Press in 2023