Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 15
                                   
Table of
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SLUT

Why does the word satisfy so?

The tongue slides up
the arch of the mouth, the tip touches, flicks
the teeth, biting
off the final T.

I always knew it was me.

The whispered S, the soft slur of the L,
guttural shove of the U, the abrupt
ejaculate of the T –

yes, it’s me;

that deep inside rut
the tunnel of lightning
with its slimy electrolyte conductor
(slut = slime + rut)
of thunder –

it’s me.

I’m going somewhere you can’t go –
that’s why you hate me.
Every cell in my body
is a rehearsal for something unfathomable,

something dark, fragile,
redolent and diaphanous –
unnamable.
I always knew it was me.

        
Margaret McCarthy
__
WHAT THE SMELL OF BOXWOOD PROMISED

An alchemical moment
on the side of the unknowable;
a marriage, yet to be revealed.
Summer's sexual smell
crushed and distilled into narcotic.
Deep, green musk; a blanket
of warm heavy air coaxing
a dream of the impossible –

a waking vision of the possible.


        Margaret McCarthy__



Klaatje
C.TvM
Klaartje 2001-2012
SOLSTICE

Resurrection comes         At strange, unexpected times Shortest day, longest       Night, how can you signal light's  Return?  Not so fast;

Let me burrow here awhile,       Dream the sun's return, Then climb out from winter's cave      Stronger from sight's seed.  I'll re-invent creation;   

I'll re-birth all creation.  

        Margaret McCarthy__
PHOTOGRAPHY

To press vision through darkness,
through glass and metal
and push it through that opening
so small
who would have believed there could be a world on the other side?
The process of casting
sight into silver, the skin of plastic
to be redeemed by water, to cycle
from brilliance to blackness to brilliance ‑-
the mechanics of seeing are everything;

and still the shadow of that cloud escaped me,
that light.


        Margaret McCarthy__