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After -- for Amy Gardner Dreams of a body, a body of dreams. On the sea's surface, a slick of weeds. This day has no history in its seams. This day is a garden of unfurled seeds. On the sea's surface, a slick of weeds. The summer's stories were of sharks, attacks. This day is a garden of unfurled seeds. Autumn blazes early with browns and blacks. The summer's stories were of sharks, attacks. Swimmers shed limbs as if to mark where they've been. Autumn blazes early with browns and blacks. In your dream, he is once again whole and clean. Swimmers shed limbs as if to mark where they've been. He smiles at you, leaning on a fence. In your dream, he is once again whole and clean. For brief seconds it almost makes sense. He smiles at you, leaning on a fence. This day has no history in its seams. For brief seconds it almost makes sense: Dreams of a body. A body of dreams. By Jen Karetnick Originally published in Tigertail, A South Florida Poetry Annual. Collected in Tales from Mango House, ©2007 by Jen Karetnick. Please request permission before copying or distributing. |
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