by Kim Welliver
My mouth widened to swallow
whole the world
I wrapped my tongue around poppied fields
thickets of briar and wild fennel
sieved
doves and black-throated thrush
through my small teeth little whorls
of feather tickling my nostrils a flurried
scurry of dormice plump
as pearls or purses slid down the pink
canal of my throat
I tongued
the gritted spittle of beetles turnip moths’ white wings
pond frogs
and tigered wasps trickling from the
corners of my lips
beneath happy ribs
I kept a lake
like a lung a gleamed key
to unlock the fierce workings of my heart
grinning I gnawed
on the lapped whelk
of the moon throating
its blued light
bit by
luminous
bit
::
Kim Welliver is an autodidact who has been passionate about the written word, in all its iterations, since early childhood. Both a poet and novelist, she is a Pushcart Prize and Best of Net nominee. Her work can be found in print and online publications, including Rock & Sling, Mid-American Review, Night Picnic, Corvid Queen, West Trade Review, Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Radar, moth+rust, Fairy Tale Review Anthologies and many others.
Image: Théodore Rousseau, “The Pond (La Mare).” 1855. In the public domain.
ID: painting of a distant pond and large trees.
Psaltery & Lyre 