Maureen N. McLane

The magpie came back to the courtyard & its deep chill the magpie was a jay was a jackdaw was a bird in Germany if not a German bird. Whither the Carolingians and their monks whose recipes called for cinnamon from the Far East? You say cinnamon, I say cassia, though we’ve never between us tasted the famously fragrant spice Cinnamomum zeylanicum, nor the aromatic bark qirfah which...

bees riddle the astersor are they daisieshave you a thoughtor a pansy for me

the lenticelsof cherry treeshave cracked opento a deeper barkcould your skinnot open all alongthe seam of autumn

there’s a gashin the mindan old slippinginto a reservoiryes/no        yes/nofrog splash

along the bus routea hinge of wingsbutterfly thoraxof the breathing possibleyes/noyes/no

bees...

The moon rose in the skyas the moon rose in the poemthe new held in the lap of the oldand we talked about the weatherand imminent disaster forestalledsince we were together.

Comrades, I am with youunder this very full moon!and we shall not yet set forthbut will talk about the shapeof things and thereby shapethis hour this day if notthis life –

Orange zinnias. Lettuces bolted,some salvageable. Babiesand teargas on Facebook.Money’s an algorithm.

Someone’s got rhythm.Did iambic pentametermarch along with British soldiers –maybe. I take my

waking slow, click among linksin the morning in bed –is it a cocoon, is it Procrustean –O my modern self too long lefton the shelf with old booksand expired cans of...

all daypersonifying plantsEvil NettleFascist Weed

boing boingI do not want youmatter out of placeI rip you outI favour the desiredthe useful to me to me to me!

meanwhile stars doing themselvesin the skyinsouciant celebrityassholes they don’t carewhy don’t they caredon’t theyCassiopeia angling the skyopen triangles mouths and teethof vanity, griefbut where, where is the beltof...