Thursday, July 2, 2015


Let's be together. We'll take pictures for proof.
Fill our mouths with those heart-shaped candies
and say the words, those melting words--
a dollar hidden in your hat brim, an amulet tucked inside my shoe.

Pretty wildflowers grow
fed from the slack-jawed smiles below--
blackbird, bluebird,
cowbird, crow.

Here is our memory book, let's fill it and call it a life.
If you need anything, ring this little bell;
I'll blow in to say the words, those healing words--
like the cutest little Christ-girl, your do-the-devil wife.

See the sunflowers, tall and fine
lining the road from our prairie cottage here--
sun burn, sour churn,
your lies, mine.

"Ghost Maiden in the Meadow," 2015, by Angela Deane

A little scribble for The Storialist.   


Sioux said...

Some day, perhaps with your last dying breath, you'll tell us how in the hell you do this.

Until then, we just read, our mouths gaping open in amazement...

blogoratti said...

Really splendid read indeed.

Anonymous said...

I find the third stanza to be the most impacting.

TexWisGirl said...

you have such fricking talent. you switch styles with the wind and impress the helloutta us.

Hannah Stephenson said...

Wow! I love how you took this challenge on. That's a lovely and ferocious capture the tone of the image so well.

Thanks for writing and sharing! :)

Kerry O'Connor said...

An incredible juxtapostion you have wrought - a fine response to your chosen image - I love the little incantations you slip in here and there too.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

How could she possibly resist? Love the birds and, especially, the closing stanza.

hedgewitch said...

Your poems always seem so organic--they seem to sprout, as here, from the seed of a single line and grow wildly, meandering like vines, or sometimes stiff and clutching like carnivorous plants, greening the imagination of the reader toward some vision which shimmers sweetly but disappears when grasped. I love the contrast between the rhymed portions and the more free-form--beautifully sewn together with the thread only the heart can spin.

Buddah Moskowitz said...

I love that you need the proof of this ephemeral moment. That's all my writing is: proof that I lived it all.

"Faith is an island in the setting sun, but proof is the bottom line for everyone." -Paul Simon

la la mosk

Cloudia said...

you blow my mind like clockwork. Tick....tick.....BOOM!

( '>


Shadow said...

why do i feel this turned from light to dark?

Mama Zen said...

This is so gorgeous and so unsettling.