I hear voices: snowmelt whispering, murmuring, sighing, gurgling a hundred ways at once. Up in the newly bare field, a turkey gobbles.
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I hear voices: snowmelt whispering, murmuring, sighing, gurgling a hundred ways at once. Up in the newly bare field, a turkey gobbles.
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February thaw
the sound of flapping
from the clothesline
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Thaw
If I were a brook I would unwind
like a spool in the sun, shake my green
maracas with sequined stones.
If I were a beet in the soil I’d pulse
like a heart, pull myself out
of my muddy shroud.
If I were a bowl of new
steamed rice I’d curl fringes of steam
and float a grateful face above it.
All over the newly bare field, melting
voices– whispering, murmuring, sighing
and gurgling a hundred ways at once.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
02 18 2011
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February in Chennai
Faint like the heart beat of a fetus
nascent in prenatal slumber
lies the summer miles below the earth
murmuring and sighing.
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Typed my url wrong in my earlier response. Sorry.
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Corrected. Thanks for helping us to picture February in south India. Wonderful image.
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Powerful figures of language. ” Faint heart beat….lies summer…murmuring and sighing…” Poetry. Will read more from your blog.