59.) 2 Poems by Marie Ponsot. 1988. (2 min. read )
OUTSIDE THE FERTILE CRESCENT
Too long out of her seashell, too far away
from green waves sparkling as they lick the sky,
Aphrodite falters. Shallow ponds delay
her sea-search. Off course, inland, tired, dry,
she takes a man's words seriously
when he offers water. He owns a well.
She settles in his oasis. His one tree,
his human heart, cast their spell;
for such implosion she serves him gratefully.
He keeps her safe from his city of those
who are wicked. She gets water enough,
cupfuls, pictcherfuls, to cook & wash clothes,
not to plunge in. Pillared when she calls his bluff,
at dawn her salt crystals gleam, flushed with rose.
THE PROBLEM OF THE DARK
Lacking electric light
or other artifice
the instruction of night
is hit or miss.
Strolling's a dream-state
nightmare to run.
Fields she negotiates
drop to canyon.
She makes her foot wait, feel for
what's next. She's far in.
The edge of the work of her war
is air on skin.