Oratory

Raven

Sunday Morning

Azaleas and snails are mating in the garden.  Newsprint rubs its dark mark on the sheets. The remains of lobster and one pink shrimp curl together on a plate. I recently read that men and women are separate, symbiotic species, the males superfluous, parasitic.  I want to ease your predacious appetite, dampen your unnecessary shoulder, taste your briny needless tail.
   
   

WinterSolstice

It was dark and cold and Grandmother said let's make a picnic, we'll hang the beaded sun on the ceiling, have lunch from a willow basket. She laid out great-grandmother's quilt, orange and yellow and blue, a homespun lawn on the carpet, and I in my nightgown and she in her lavender dress, ate tuna and crackers and chocolate off delicate china plates.