San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

Beth Fehrensen

Drift Away

 

In this weather
I just want to drift away into the heather
Sink beneath the bushes
Into the tender tips of her fingers
 
Mama Baba
Earth
Dirt
Hold my hands
 
Not a mans
 
Make amends
 
To the inner devil
I hear your voice
The clouds
They smell it
Dark and rank
 
It rains today
Whether mother comes or not
The earthling
She is hot
 
Like a womb in which to grow
Festering in bacteria
Where's the hula-hoe
I wanna till this earth
 
Before the water comes
I'm gonna' take a good clear look
At this face
Mark down each scar
On the skin of a tree
 
So I can remember her
Remembering me
 
Because I deserve to live
To love
To feel and think
At the same time
 
It's absolutely fine
That my poems don't rhyme