by Carmen Mason
Do not think me a fool for love
swinging my legs open
on the surprised carpet
now we are divorced
sculpturing you to me
new clay not yet
mashed and pounded
fired into form
which cannot stand a fall
Do not think me a fool for love
it is just we were never
like this before
evenly spinning wet
unglazed without guile
hope, disappointment
Do not think me a fool for love
nor mistake this impulse
for our old desire
it’s just
we have become
the ancient font
half standing
in the neglected garden:
birds and flowers
circling it reverently
sensing its eagerness
to fall and fold into the
roots and remnants
to become the silt
of love again.
Carmen Mason: She has been writing poems since she was six, has won poetry prizes throughout the years, has been published in small magazines and enjoys sharing her poetry at open mikes. She writes short stories and memoir, but feels her most intrinsic ‘voice’ is a poetic one.