Poetry : 'How Do You Keep Your Tempest?' by Frances Donovan : No. 34

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Pif Magazine
ISSN: 1094-2726

Published by:
Pif, LLC
PMB 248
4820 Yelm Hwy SE
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PAST POETRY	MORE POETRY

Loose baby loose
as if the mad quick hand of the seashore
hadn't broken to expose you
as if I hadn't found you there already
caught like some impossible breast
and the whole milk-white night
laid out before you
for the taking

Loose baby loose
in the whir of the fan
under these sheets' heavy colors
sleep here as long as you can

She waits for you with breasts like wild mushrooms;
taste them, how good they taste
better than chanterelles,
better than chocolate.
She smells like the savage garden.
You open her like a flower
and drink, and drink,
such nectar, such a tongue
that you never thought it possible.

Loose, baby loose
when you go with him down to the water's edge
and slide in and swim
and grab those lanky limbs of his and pull
that long arm, those long thighs
with the bones right under them
he's spread out like a miracle before you
and his name means clay.

When he opens you like a flower
and presses upward
how easily you forget those wild mushrooms
how easily you push your breath away
and float like a lotus afterward
in the quarry's green water
black and silent this night
in a hole dug by men
in a hole filled with water.

Tell us what you think. Email talkback@pifmagazine.com

Frances Donovan