Afterwards we walk without words.
Even though it's early June the geese
are barking the unexpected frost off their wings.
Flapping across the fields of Wisner's farm
they throw their shadows down like spears.
A murder of crows
burst from the bushes.
A bull frog shrouded in bog shade
belches a warning.
The rusted bumper of a Ford flies by -
60 in a 30
We move apart - stepping around
the matted fur of a fly-buzzed body
now shaped like a map of Mexico, adrift,
ripped from its neighbors, frayed around the edges
a curious distortion of the original.
Valerie Schermerhorn has been in love with poetry since hearing her first Dylan song at the age of 14. Although a long way from 14 she has only started playing with poetry herself in the last seven years. She has one published chap book entitled "Shared Dreams of Drowning".