poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

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Sunday, May 19, 2013

The Sweet Lambs With Their Velvet Ears

The lilacs come purpling out towards us, three open hands at a time,
pink lilies compete with their sweet smell, heavy how they bend,
suddenly Vermont is dense green and there is room for everything.

We grow in different directions to make room, to allow for all possible
densities. The farmers market grows and the silly lambies
stumble, the sweet lambs with their velvet ears

and the mean little goats jumping from crate to crate
pause to nip my petting hand.
The cow manure smell floats thickly over the highway.

Look—there’s a fox nosing around the cut-down trees.
The last time I saw a fox was a few weeks ago, we were driving
away from Provincetown, where we’d been out on a boat

watching whales in the bay. There was a family of three
humpbacks that stayed with us. We watched them feed,
shooting up out of the water with their mouths open

as terrified fish jumped through the sudden whiteness of it all.
Like the first flowering tree in springtime, we knew
spring was coming, but we were surprised when everything went white.

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