Hear the grackles snorting our grapes.

They sputter in the arbor, puncture

then swoop out the empty sleeve.

The feisty terrier–grizzle and fawn–goggles,

the crows out of reach.

My mate tows pruned pear limbs.

He gibbets green twine, suckers,

making room.

I’ve hoed the natty weeds.

The succulent purslane rerooted even in the sun.

Kneeling on seeds, I pull creepers.

The terrier, her rump in the wire fence, quakes

to gnaw twigs, roots, birdshit, this very world.

∞

From the Fall 1977 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 14, No. 1)

Text © Rachel Norton 1997-2020