I thought Spring had come.
Then she went away.
The soft breathing air
that sifted through my hair
is gone.
The sky is dirty gray again.
Snow patches freeze to crust again.
Black ice coats the walk again.
Yet…Spring gathers strength
in a firm contraction
waiting… for Sun’s force
to pulse through stiffened branches
waiting…for rainwater…warmed
to prepare the earth
for the birth of blossoms.
Bonnie Marshall
medium and message
it wears the rock
three dimensions
two profiles
abstract before abstract
high-hidden arroyo…
Great Mural
by great Painters
on palm stake ladders
drawing giant images
maroon and black
pink and white
outline…infill
shadow…sketch
artist over artist
paint over paint
time over time
centuries between…
great universal themes
illusion…power…magic
stampede across the rock
medium and message
Bonnie Marshall
Poseidon throws his shells away
to litter all the shore
where abandoned dwellings
lie hinged…vacant…
the animating principle
dissolved to another realm
where curved blue turbulence
dissipates on sand.
Bonnie Marshall
Lucy in Margate
It looked smaller now…
that Margate elephant
sand-stranded exotic
India tusked male
named Lucy.
She remembered now…
“Once in a Lifetime!”
above the ticket booth
and how staircases spiraled
five stories to the howdah.
She remembered now…
how its pink belly hall
echoed whoops and hollers
when she and Boy
hands clasped
stomped dizzily in circles
then raced upward
through the beast’s back
to the lookout.
One Atlantic Ocean glance
and they hurried
down to the belly
down the legs
out the door
back to the beach.
Lucy looked tired to her now…
peeling gray tin
patched gaudy howdah
soulful puffy eyes
better days.
She bought a souvenir to frame
…old-time Lucy post card…
two children
buying tickets
with a banner
above the booth
“Once in a Lifetime!”
Bonnie Marshall
I Wish They’d Named Me…
I wish they’d named me Victoria.
If I were Victoria I would
look calm and elegant by candlelight
and dress in lace and velvet
and glare if someone called me Vicky.
I wish they’d named me Sasha
If I were Sasha, I would
play guitar by a fireplace
and raise fine stallions
and live by the sea.
I wish they’d named me Martha.
If I were Martha, I would
bake bread and can pickles
and braid my long hair
and birth babies at home.
And yet they named me Bonnie.
The name fits me… strangely
and when I lie dying
it won’t fit at all.
Bonnie Marshall
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