Menu

Poetry

————–Not the branches
we cut each
————–windy March
to hang with eggs
————–dyed red.
Not those
————–we bless
with palms
————–& smoke.
These arced
————–spines & split
limbs bud
————–through straining
bark. Backs
————–humped & bent,
bound. Does
————–God suffer
these husked
————–velvet knobs?
Stunted,
————–a wreath
of tumors.
————–Yes, he does.
Gather them
————–for procession,
for the table
————–& icon,
crown for
————–weeping Theotokos.


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

Image

Syllable Nutshell

By

Stephen Cushman

The Egg of Anything

By

Paula Bohince

At Chinese Harbor

By

Robert Grunst

upward v of birds in a pale blue sky; film; scratched.

A Prayer

By

Tara Bray

Pin It on Pinterest