"First Dance Epithalamion," by Beth Bachmann
First Dance Epithalamion
by Beth Bachmann
Darkness overtakes the house - the shadow of Icarus' wing
or the sun sinking below the water.
A mosquito caught in the light crackles, hovers almost
and then arches his back and lets go.
It's too early yet for the stars to grace us
with a sacrificial dance,
a little one about spring, perhaps, or ecstasy.
Weeping after a riot. Abduction.
In the garden, a swarm refuses to listen,
waltzes frenzied on the broken roses.
From Story South
I remain incapable of letting a week go by without posting a bug poem. Keep in mind that an epithalamion is a poem in celebration of a marriage, and this takes on a whole other level of meaning.
by Beth Bachmann
Darkness overtakes the house - the shadow of Icarus' wing
or the sun sinking below the water.
A mosquito caught in the light crackles, hovers almost
and then arches his back and lets go.
It's too early yet for the stars to grace us
with a sacrificial dance,
a little one about spring, perhaps, or ecstasy.
Weeping after a riot. Abduction.
In the garden, a swarm refuses to listen,
waltzes frenzied on the broken roses.
From Story South
I remain incapable of letting a week go by without posting a bug poem. Keep in mind that an epithalamion is a poem in celebration of a marriage, and this takes on a whole other level of meaning.