Poetry Tuesday
August 14, 2007 at 5:46 am | In poetry | Leave a CommentAt Risk
This body does not smell human,
it smells of oregano in heat.
This is not your world
where people work and live in a house.
It is a place before or after.
After and before that.
Things in parts and pieces.
The wind turning silver
in the olive trees.
A red pomegranate on the table.
Silence with a ringing in it.
This is a beginning
or long afterwards.
Exactly that.
– Linda Gregg
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