The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Mercedes Lawry

If Lies Are Like Bees

Let the lies loose

to swarm and settle

where they might build

a hive. Let them feed

off each other, blind

obedience a sensible trade

for ethical dilemma.

Let the song of the lies

comfort your dark hours.

Find the sweetness

and ease it out. Why not

be comforted by the hum?

Why not see yourself deserving

of a glut of honey?

What Is Needed at this Point

Less of the sky, more of the dirt

freckled with stones and twigs,

rampant roots fighting their way in all directions.

Less of the clouds, clumps and puffs of ash-gray,

brutal white, and more of the trees:

the birch, the fir, the big leaf maple, the madrona.

Huddle here and know a little of what remains

after the bones have been taken,

after the slack flesh has been rolled away.

Miss Havisham Gets through the Day

Frayed hem dusting floor

as little breaths come and go.

Her hands swim at her sides.

Across the room and back,

she is a rueful traveler.

A sip of wind slides in the window,

open just a shave. Prints

on the sill, on the wavy glass.

Shush, shush, she hears the silk

on the pine boards, pause between faint groans.

She has nothing but hours to give.