December
She’s supposed to be land clearing
Heaping brush to burn in first snow
But the pale yellow ghost of tall
Summer grasses she sweeps down
Is instead caught in her hand
And placed that way in a kitchen vase
Show Me
I don’t walk this
Early morning, frost
On the mowing, but you do —
And when you return
I’m sitting by the
Cookstove warm as you bend
To shiver my neck a kiss —
Show me what I missed
Leaving For Work
I could hold you
All morning like this —
Loose summer dress
In my hands, brush of
Sunburn on your shoulders
The feel of your waist
And a game of tip-toeing
Who is taller, as we kiss
And won’t let go
The Pleasures Of Love
The last of my noon hour
Black tin lunch pail
Sitting on a sap soaked maple stump
Woodchips nettled on my woolen socks
Finding a fruit cup she made for me
Clear cold glass in my oiled hand
Neat slices of strawberry and pear
————————————
BOB ARNOLD
I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012
