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Monthly Archives: June 2011

Month 5:16 “Twenty-First Night”


              Tawny cat is staring
out my window, is glaring at
fireflies, myriad pulses
like volleys

of myriad memories.

Summer arrives
recalling previous Junes, milkweed,
milder generations
of geraniums,

the first chickadees
sill-stalked by a kitten.

He still twitches when he sleeps.

Tonight my nosetip tinders
from insect flares
as if I, too, were whiskered.
Blood quickens
inner ears: body

magno-electric.      Cat

will eventually scratch
for his dish, I’ll switch on
the kitchen light, green bulb
renewable, spiraled.

Each blink mutates the dreaming.

by Therese L. Broderick

NOTE: This version of the poem benefits from the feedback of local poets. This poem was influenced by other summer poems and by science essays which I read. This poem’s title and the phrase “body magno-electric” were inspired by Walt Whitman’s poetry.

Month 5:15 “Moon of the Marble Rye”


“Moon of the Marble Rye”

Make-up look.
Eyebrow of malt,
mascara a lofty brown.
Complexion of one-hill camels.
Milk, rye, dill seed, flour,
oil, yeast, sugar, salt…
The lunch cook

by Therese L. Broderick 

To learn more about the “selene” (a form invented by this blogger), see this blog’s post “Month 5:7”

Month 5:14 “Pinning the Dress”


Neither one of us felt a prick
but there it was: one mote
of blood
no larger than a floater in an eye
spotting my daughter's white
graduation gown
while I pinned the lining near her spine.

Honey, don't move, stay perfectly still.

Quickly I wet a towel to dab, dab
the red dot
which came from no human
skin as far as I could tell
and when the stain disappeared
without a trace on the cloth
I thought of her kindergarten
and that storybook: a damsel spinning, spinning.
A ready needle. A child gone, the girl
no real mother could save.

by Therese L. Broderick

NOTE: This version of the poem was improved by the
input of two local critique groups. The poem recounts
what happened as I pinned my daughter's high school
graduation dress in June 2011. I still don't know
where the red dot came from: pricked skin?
nail polish fleck? dried blood on the pin?

Month 5:13 “The Followers”


Between storm warnings I take an afternoon break
by the river’s edge and find a vacant bench just as a mother
duck leads her offspring through the current, southbound,

her summer flank and breast gliding like the fitted helmet
of a biker glimpsed above a trail hedge. Behind her
six babies paddle, each small brown chick wobbling

like a wayward dribble off a tip of her wing feathers —
brood insouciant —
                                                  until a single male Mallard
ruddering upstream comes into our view and immediately

all young ones align in pairs at their mother’s tail: so severe
are their perfect parallel lines of three that I could yield
in this moment to such arrangement, that wildest of phases.

by Therese L. Broderick

Month 5:12 “Moon of the Feud”

Selene #5
“Moon of the Feud”

Family Feud  
painted navy blue
on the hull of an oldster’s boat
dry-docked. Another thunderstorm
barging towards his Coeyman’s marina,
gazebo, happy-hour lounge, port.
So alleged: Coeyman’s Hollow
hails to “cowman.” Moo  
the last trace of truce.

by Therese L. Broderick

To find out more about the Selene, see this blog’s post for “Month 5:7.”

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