It's #tbt! Enjoy this great one from SWWIM Every Day's archives!
You make me cry oranges, my throat envelop stones. Your honed-in focus rattles me to bones. You could spend one whole poem looking for a grain of sand in an ocean cove. I dream of quiet boys poking around in a buried trove. They listen like doves to the sound of fruit growing in my orchards and my groves. You were roving, clamoring in droves. I stove off cravings by piercing them with cloves and left them boiling on the stove in copper. Into the soup of us, I dropped a mote of x, a jot of o a note of hex, a spot of no, and blended it real slow. To complete this stock I must roast your host of bones. Let it be known, the way we grow together is the place where we don’t know who’s choking on whose oranges or whose stones.
Emily Shearer is an ex-pat poet and yoga/French/writing teacher and creative consultant. Her poems have been nominated for Pushcarts and “Best of”’s, and published in Kestrel, Silk Road Review, Please See Me, jellybucket, Fiolet & Wing, emry’s journal online, psaltery & lyre, West Texas Literary Review, Clockhouse, and Ruminate, among others. She is the Poetry Editor for Wide Open Writing. You can find her on the web at www.bohemilywrites.net.
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