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Folded Cotton Bloomers
I see you watching. . .
Eyes reaching:
Groping through the mist.
In the damp of midnight meadows,
Eyes crawling… begging from the moor.
The flicker of a candle
Cast upon a bosom-
And the ribbons of a corset
Drifting on the floor.
Folded cotton bloomers
In the corner of the room,
And a bath of cherry water
Knows my true perfume.
Apples in a basket,
And lavender on a tray;
A pitcher of new water
Cleans the dirt of the day.
Posing in a looking glass
To dream of summer days-
While the dust of jasmine powder
Rises in a haze.
Hair combs lined up neatly
And the brush of auburn hair;
A hundred strokes of love.
Yes- I know that you are there.
Midnight Eyes
That whimper-
And drool across the moor;
Yes Midnight Eyes
That hunger-
To come
Walking though the door.
Creek Bed
Dried up days
Of broken books
Crumbled in the woods
We stood and watched
The creek go by
Sucked up by the swirl
Of little girls
In pig-tailed hair
And boys with rocks
Gone fishing there
Where colors
Fade with
With saw-toothed grins
Looking for
The fish with fins.
The Hope Chest
I’ve inherited my grandmother’s wedding dress
Flapper days
Hand-sewn beads, a thousand I think
Fragile tulle
And the cologne of a grandpa
I never knew
I’ve admired long my mother’s dress
The fifties of course
Big white bow and simple seams
Wrinkled sateen
And the pride of my father
Still smiling at her
I’ve quite forgotten my first wedding dress
Eighties couture
Department store brand, flowers and trim
Casual cotton
And the memory of whim
I’ve dared to dream in another dress
’93
Victorian lace the color of cream
The little girl with second hopes
Now curled in the moth balls
Trying to cope
In September
September
Breeds everything new,
Every year.
Giving up my summer of you
In August tears.
Packing away swimming suits
And bare foot nights.
Autumn growing ripe with fruit,
The kitchen warm with apple pie,
And quite afternoons to cry,
Sitting at the window looking
Into the setting sun for you
With twilight’s discontent
And yearning,
To ever cherish the sentiment
Of love’s eternal burning.
Yes, September breeds
Everything new:
Romances starting,
Giving up my summer of you
In desperate-houred departing.
Anastasia Clark
Anastasia Clark has been writing poetry for over 30 years. She is a native of Massachusetts, currently residing in South Florida.
She has two children and one grandchild. She is a Contracts Manager for an aircraft parts dealer. She has been published in VOiCE
Magazine, Epiphany Magazine, EOTU Magazine, Poetic License Poetry Magazine, Black Creek Review, Speaking Leaves, Poet’s Portico,
Windward Oahu News, ONYX, and Town of Framingham - Anniversary Celebration Writing Contest She is currently serving as the POETRY
EDITOR for Epiphany Magazine where she chooses submissions for publication and also writes a monthly POETRY COLUMN: "PASSPORT TO
POETRY." She is currently marketing 5 poetry manuscripts and 6 children's book manuscripts.
Web Site
Email
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