Life
after life nuzzles in and out of dainty snouts
that
seem an endless source of sustenance
for
the yellow-dusted carriers.
Last
fall they swooned in shock, lay down
their
dark lance leaves and all but said farewell
after
the transplanting. Cadaverous they lay
and
I took them at their desiccated word
as
goners. Now they're running April riot
like
an army at the border
who've
summoned a fleet of buzzing
allies
to spread the loot once ravaged.
Judith Bowles is Ohio-born, Duke-educated, New York-leavened, and Washingtonian by nature. She earned her MFA from American University in short fiction where she has taught creative writing. She writes after having taken a sabbatical from writing during eight years in Philadelphia where she studied horticulture.
