Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Watching Her Mow the Lawn (20 Sept. 2005)

is like watching a sculpture
take shape. The excess is sliced away,
revealing smooth and undulating lines.
Each hollow and hillock resembles her own
as the lean, narrow muscles bulge
to work through a tangled patch of kudzu.
A trickle--no, stream--of sweat
traces the curve of her face.
The nearly invisible fuzz on her cheek
is dewy with it.
Her moist shoulder is freckled
with grass debris. It finds every fold
in her shirt, every crease in her joints
and clings to her, relentlessly.

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