Lizards in the Leaves

Rustlings in the green....imagination, art, whimsy

Jan 2, 2012

Poetry Ahead: Liminal

 Oh, the constant back-and-forth in my head about the issue of posting poems to this blog and worrying whether I have to submit them only to those publications that accept 'previously published.'

I just shouldn't care. I should just share my poetry whenever I want, wherever I want and not care about that elusive, unlikely future of getting published.  That's what I'm feeling like today.  And, since I'm doing more writing than making visual art lately, if I don't post  poems, I won't have much to post here.  And now that perennial rant is done & I won't do it again. Ever.


It’s space made of a bell rung sixty times,
pieced from the gaudy drama of autumn,
its insistence on being about dying

It’s where I’m standing chilled and still
at an artfully peeling threshold, strewn with blue
paint chips, a sill covered
in leaf-fall,  all priorities shed
and abandoned for the wind’s

Crossing that threshold
is part of a bargain I’m making.

First I draw a great inbreath.
Oxygen silvers my center
swirls down to my roots
splayed hungrily in the earth.
I burrow firmly
into the snug province
of gnomes, the dirt workers, the spirit miners.

Lithic glitter dances from my fingers.

Soon I’ll lie three months silent
in the crystal heart of winter, an inclusion
wrapped in wool, tattooed with dreams,
stitched wth silence.

My jitterbug pulse will slow
and I’ll enter a simple fairy tale
of a crone who appears to be sleeping,
yet crosses a bridge,
wildly awake behind her bruised lids.

                                   -- Zann Carter  12.20.11



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