tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61251562011-05-17T22:44:50.377-07:00InstaPoetAll the poetry that fits we print.Jeneane Sessumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17594483069781415702noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6125156.post-1087240461595689942004-06-14T12:09:00.000-07:002004-06-14T12:44:04.566-07:00<b>Unwashed</b>
<br />
<br />the inchworm that fell
<br />from half way up the pine
<br />in the field
<br />by the barn
<br />into my open mouth
<br />as I scanned the sky
<br />for oriels.
<br />
<br />I ran all the way
<br />home
<br />sure I would die
<br />sure I swallowed him
<br />whole.
<br />
<br />In those days I was sure
<br />of one thing: death.
<br />I was sure it waited
<br />in quiet fields
<br />nestled between the tall
<br />thin trunks of pines
<br />and under rocks
<br />beneath the bellies of
<br />snakes.
<br />
<br />I saw the possibility
<br />of the absence of
<br />all things
<br />in all things.
<br />
<br />In the beauty of a moment,
<br />the baby sparrow landing
<br />so near
<br />my seven-year-old fingers
<br />I touched him,
<br />the sweet stained
<br />smell of the manure pile
<br />and the dust from the
<br />curry comb
<br />after grooming.
<br />
<br />In all my moments
<br />loss waited,
<br />waits.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6125156-108724046159568994?l=instapoet.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Jeneane Sessumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17594483069781415702noreply@blogger.com