Vanessa Shields – p. 145

A Woman in Spring

Naked, she sits beneath the maple. The rain like a standing ovation, invites her to undo.

Beneath layers of wooly grief, Winter’s mysteries loaded on her spine, she longs for breakage.

Her clothing in a heap on the dirt – soaked. Chunks of cut off hair sink into a puddle cradled in twisted root lacunas.

Her nipples rise like red suns. Her earlobes dangle diamond drops. Her laughter coaxes seeds from between her tired thighs.

This plucking of Nature’s strings is musical madness. She accepts her role in the velvet mists of season’s changing.