How can I say that a bay mare
calls me, her umber eye latched
to mine; that the mourning doves
keening outside my window etch
their lament on the blade of my sternum;
that the terrier’s chin on my knee,
her rump nuzzling my bare feet—
dark jar of sangria, hint
of dregs in the first sip? In May’s
fleshy tendrils I see claws
of drought, autumn’s flush of decay,
convulsions of ice, a sepia winter
drudging beneath hollow stalks.
Every day my heart contracts,
expands, valves swooshing—
every day its thud echoes
heavy in my belly. Among hallowed bones,
I hearken to the bees’ intrepid whir,
say: nectar, wing, wax, elixir.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 1.
Annette Sisson’s poems can be found in Valparaiso Poetry Review, Birmingham Poetry Review, Rust and Moth, The Citron Review, The Lascaux Review, Third Wednesday, Glassworks, The Aeolian Harp Anthology, and others. Her book Small Fish in High Branches was published by Glass Lyre Press 5/22. Her poems have won or placed in many contests, including Frontier New Voices and The Fish Anthology, and several have been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. http://annettesisson.com
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