In The Month Of Haymaking
Wiser I would be to wash my fingers,
still black from yesterday's letter,
I rejected the bold lad's proposal,
did not break the water pots,
spill my beans.
To raged Abraham I said
that I did not regret the missing night,
that neither the king's horses
nor the king's men
needed to put me back together again.
No thieving mistress awaiting her lover's note
behind tousled hayricks I will be
in the month of haymaking.
My case rested, I, the end of the line,
have reached for thread and needle.
I will - not the first one -
stitch hour upon hour,
dance against the expected
and return like a lizard, unblinking,
to my chosen scenes.
Gerburg Garmann, a native of Germany, teaches German and French at the
University of Indianapolis. Her scholarly publications (books and
articles) appear in both German and French in international journals.
Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various magazines,
including "The Adirondack Review","Balthasar", "Die
Gazette", "Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift", "Lyrikwelt", "Der
Potentially, might be ...