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.