Five Poems by Allison Thorpe
After the Ashes: The Dull Woman Wakes
In the morning the birds come
Heavy with song and joy
I lie with my eyes closed
Absorbing their revelry
A brittle sponge
Remembering rain
*
The Dull Woman Contemplates the Nature of Things
The garden has gone
Prodigal in my absence
Hordes of musk thistle
Swarm the basil and mint
Bindweed vines choke
The pink from coneflowers
Quackgrass rejoices
Its juicy profanity
A splotch of red
Catches my eye
My hoe pulls
Aside the weeds
One plump tomato
Among the weedy muddle
I rub its skin to mine
Take a bite
The sweet runneth
Over my lips
This tempting apple
My forsaken eden
*
The Cunning Sun Lures the Dull Woman
This porch is perfect
For mind wanderers
Morning coffee
Evening wine
And always the sun
Painting its blue canvas
Gaudy and unafraid
Traits I lack
But ones I hope the rays
Will tattoo on my skin
My waning fabric
Edges singed
By time’s burn
and circumstance
Each solitary day now
Each spectrum sweep of color
Offers new possibilities
For my inchworm evolution
What light to begin the process?
Wood violet or honeycomb?
Flamengo or camel?
The blood or the bleeding?
*
The Dull Woman and the Grass High
Ice cubes jiggle merrily
In my glass of tea
As the boy down the block
Mows my dandelion-riddled lawn
His youthful vigors
Highlight my dawdled recline
I rise to pay him
When the mower stops
He asks about raking
But I just shake my head
His eyes roll at my idiocy
Or possibly my miserliness
I take off my slippers
Retrieve the old wood rake
A few missing teeth
Worn grooves just right
For my gnarled hands
Though no match for the boy’s
Sleek plastic model
I breathe the fresh mowings
An incense of delight
To inhale and hold
Mood altering pleasure
Blades sticking to skin
Like beggar’s lice
Bare feet tipsy
With each fragrant tread
The sun trips across the sky
As I slow rake the afternoon
Feeling like a child
Baptizing puddles
Neighbors probably think
My euphoria an odd enterprise
But age has gifted simplicity
And who am I to refuse?
*
The Dull Woman Turns Moony
the old dirt road
lives in my dreams
sweet rutted siren
leading me home
shaggy canopy
of leaf lush limbs
the sun’s peeking
a filigreed dapple
loosing faeries and fauns
spells dancing the mist
surely some enticing entrance
to a better world
but progress descends
as progress does
machines shriek their ruckage
ogres terrorizing the landscape
splintered stumps left
lifeless as war waste
the rumble of dump trucks
a daily trespass on spirit
hot asphalt oozings
bubble like sour wounds
I have grown feral
my cave plundered
oh my dirt road
my wistful muse
please remember
I knew you when
your feathered anthems
your cast of wild
Sylvia Ahrens is the author of six collections of poetry, writes the Family Tree Cozy Mystery series, and works as a mentor at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning in Lexington, Kentucky. A retired English professor, she lived the back-to-the-land lifestyle for almost four decades before moving to Lexington. She has earned several Pushcart nominations, won grants from The Kentucky Foundation for Women, and writes as Allison Thorpe.