Poetry R. D. Kuensting — June 23, 2011 14:03 — 0 Comments
Little Sister – R. D. Kuensting
She longs
to spend the summer
like a heart-shaped bivalve or a garden:
filmy,
dulcet,
flowering;
to
b e
invisible but detectable,
white from no contact with light,
vanishing;
to skip or leap about,
sunny, care-free,
having to do with a wedding;
to be that naïve young woman
in the place beside the fire,
older,
one of two equal parts;
for a formal expression of praise;
for the smell of earth after a rain;
to be, like those
great
porcelain
rivers,
victorious despite heavy losses;
and to find something while looking for something else.
What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney