poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Otters In Lilac Blossoms

Well that's one way to enjoy a war. Follow the parade, the horse trail, the hawk-eyed and save the city. Exaggerate, say: "They call me Money." Take two more than you need. Call it change.

Change the nature of your fears. One warrior dreams gently. Dreams tell you to take the canoe because it's faster than otters. Follow the sunrise. Exaggerate your aim. Save the gun, wrap it in plastic and put it in the fridge.

Save the flicker in the woods. Save the trumpet. Exaggerate the differences so you can know what the enemy looks like right away, and she will know you, sexless pioneer, as otters fall in love in the lilac blossoms. Who to follow? What maps to take? What stays here, poor dear, what brave fellow feels familiar?

Take the moon out of the sky and save the sun. Follow the follower. Change the map while one weeps water and the other weeps an exaggerated blood bath.

Exaggerating otters say the trap
takes he who walks the same trail twice.
One otter says kill, then the same otter says
save. While the scout says,
"Change trails if you don't want anyone
following you down."

Follow the otters into their homes and they'll give you exaggerated reports of powder and provisions running low. This will surely change the fervor of the reinforcements. Take the war office. Save the otters. One trap kills all.

Change nothing. Follow what gets through.
One cloud over the moon greatly exaggerates the darkness. Danger
takes belief. Save your own hand. Save your own beautiful hands.

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