cobra lily

near the bog
we stand
above the snake-like
presence
of cobra lilies

I place my finger
on a leathery leaf
that secretes
a sexual slip of syrup
to attract insects

inside the body ­
inside the membranous head ­
two flies twitch
in a pool of liquid

if this cobra lily
represents our love

then the insects
trapped inside
are last night's erotic
words
transformed into flesh

their bodies
slowly being
absorbed
into the plant

the sound

the sound
from the distant
mountain highway
drowned
in the muddy field
of yellowed grasses
and drooping cattails

then it poured back
molded round and swollen
from the throats
of frogs ­
a bass beat
years ago my children
called drumming ­

it moved low and heavy
like swamp fog

I walk closer to the pond
breathing in and holding the sound ­

when I finally breathe out
it will make the sound
of wind-blown leaves
in the first tree
my children climbed:
a blue oak
hunched over the roof
of their bedrooms ­
dribbling lichen and moss
and loose bark
below where I stood

the boy's hands

the boy's hands
are on the cold pane of glass
his face is the night sky

in the moonlight
the trees
are giant flowers

he is waiting for proof
his mother is alive

his mind traces
the thin wrists
of branches

death
he can feel
slouches in the blades
of grass

he swipes his fingers down
the window
tearing his face
with condensation
his eyes
becoming claws

Michael Spring's poems have recently appeared in The Atlanta Review, Black Bear Review, Midwest Quarterly, NEO (Azores), Octavo, Paris/Atlantic, The Pedestal Magazine, Southern Ocean Review, and others. His first book of poems, blue crow, was recently published by Lit Pot Press, Inc., and has been translated into Portuguese. blue crow is set to appear as a bilingual edition by The University of the Azores and Brown University. Michael lives in O'Brien, OR, near the Oregon Caves, where he is building a cob house, edits poetry and teaches martial arts.

Email: Michael Spring

Return to Table of Contents