Tony Nozero  © 2010 All Rights Reserved

When Harvesting Saffron

look for a purple crocus
and in it a painted tongue.

Brush back the snow
in a circle from its base;

lay your ear to the soil
as if listening for hooves.

Hear the grubs pushing
wanly through tunnels,

the snow melt running
through a filigree of roots?

The sun casts its yellow net
over ice and pebbles.

Even now the ground
is full of breathing.

 

***

 

The Birth of Pity


On the third day God awoke panting.
He couldn’t feel his gums, remembered
nothing but darkness. Except.

God gnashed his teeth.
Flaked enamel fell from the firmament
and settled over the surfaces of the world.

Among the flakes, creatures with candles
for fingers sprinted back and forth,
fanning their arms in the air.

Half-finished carapaces littered the landscape
like so much blown glass,
neither living nor dead.

Above them spiraled drowsy flocks
of winged things which, try as they did,
could not touch down.

 

 

Heather Hamilton
Copyright © 2010 

Heather Hamilton is currently a PhD student in the creative writing program at the University of Cincinnati, where she serves as Assistant Editor for the Cincinnati Review. Her poems have appeared in the Chaffin Journal and Subtropics, and have been featured on Verse Daily.


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