by Jenifer Cartland
I could have never known it was a flame burning in that child’s heart;
Jenifer
I had thought it was God who visited me that night, or the devil, but perhaps it was just you,
The bottom line is that you should be afraid of poetry, coming as it does when you least expect it and asking so much, as if it knows you well enough to do that.
i. The cup I hold is three quarters full;
Up where the invisible line draws from this stone to that imagined field,
It begins with the scent of geraniums, bitter and hard,
