Betty Bonham Lies
The slither of your dry palm over mine
makes secret rustles like a snake
passing through last year's leaves—
I don't know where it came from,
where it's going. I startle easily:
a love sign, snake, or finding,
out among my roses, casual gift:
a whole and perfect skin, dying to show
its mysteries to the finder, wild design,
even the eyes were covered by a shuff of skin.
Between our fingers, spaces like the cool holes
in a wall of rocks, and something hiding there.
For most of my life I have taught--every age from infants to adults. Poetry is my love, and I've published three collections, but also three books of prose. I live in Princeton, NJ, where I am a member of the Cool Women Poets and U.S. 1 Poets (the country's longest-continuing poetry collective). As the senior poetry editor of U.S. 1 Worksheets, I get the pleasure of meeting many new poetic voices from all over the country.