she needs silver needle rain
upon her shiver skin
to startle her away from
frequency of hand sewn quilts
and layered down fill pillows
and she craves stove brewed Arabica
in a thick ceramic; her narrow fingers
tight embrace the radiating heat;
she breathes its draught of steam mist
and thinks the pitch of darkness
and grows turnip, carrot, parsnip
earthy things to blacken in a skillet
and tumble to a pewter plate; she
jars pickles…soaks beets in vinegar
and salt and bitter herbs
she needs the prick of cat claws
upon her thighs and knees…
and disdains the warm wet slop
of dog lick on her hands
would choose a harpsichord than harp
and do away with birth day…and
lines on maps…and forced smiles; she
lives beside the sea for its tempestuous
Bonnie Marshall
Artwork by Andrew Wyeth
“Corner of the Woods” 1954
Proem... 
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