Brambles both red and black begin
their reach to birth, entangled with
briar and her fresh face that is always
accompanied by some sting of pain.
The long hibernation of life,
a shallow breathing in winter,
gives up with arms spread wide,
chest open and unprotected to the sun.
There is a great deception in the new
tenderness of May with her skies the color
of summer, and stoic white cloud plateaus
I could climb if not so out of reach. The air
remains stiff enough to bite noses carnelian.
Old father makes his last attempts
to keep his daughters three
inside his hovel; to keep them from
shedding layer upon layer
revealing shoulders and knees
and lips to the wayward souls
of the men of summer, but they
disregard his pleas and warning
laying but a gentle kiss on his cheek.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Kendra Steiner Editions 5/08
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