Menu

Poetry

Even so the peaches are ripe, their pelts cat’s tongue to my touch.

Even so the fierce poppies tremble.

Even so every night a dense blue like cold stones in my mouth.

Even so death rides the air, flitting and veering like bats, brushing my outstretched
arms, in passing.

Even so I dreamed the dream that Samson dreamed—honey oozed from a skull.
The taste? Like honey. I poured it into my palm and licked.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Field Trip

By

Hannah Faith Notess

an empty hospital bed with the covers askew in a room lit by evening dusk.

Waiting

By

Sarah Klassen

Romanian Orthodox Choir

By

Ewa Elzbieta Nowakowska

The Years Were Patient with Me

By

Jeanne Murray Walker

Pin It on Pinterest