The Natural Course of Things

The Natural Course of Things
by jenny ljungqvist
The sand on the beach is rocky, the water frigid.
Like the schoolmarm’s severe silver bun
it is stern and unforgiving.
But the way the sunlight hurtles across time and space
to claim your cheek for itself
and set it ablaze
makes up for the Maine shoreline.
(Is it possible to love you any more than I do at this moment?)
White waxy Oncidium petals and
the revelation of secrets
whispered on skin and eyelashes
extinguish the fire,
finally.
(These snippets are the processes of an ancient algorithm.)
I steal furtive glances
and kiss your hands…
I could kiss your hands all day.

0 thoughts on “The Natural Course of Things

  1. Hey, you’re that spitfire girl…Coke in the desert poem, yeah. I found this : school·marm (sklmärm) also school·ma’am (-mäm, -mm)
    n.
    A woman teacher, especially one who is regarded as strict or old-fashioned.
    I’d never heard that before. Silver bun, ok. I’m guessing you’re into science big-time…maybe a teacher or buff at least? Combined with a love, the science motiff comes across nicely, i think. dramatic words and expression within give me an inkling into the passion behind this.
    The last part it would seem might go back to kissing the cheek or lips /mouth /face..but does the unexepected–kisses the hands…the hands , which leads me to believe this is real and not just Harlequin recycling. “(These snippets are the processes of an ancient algorithm.)”–yeah, nice touch.
    Thx. *Hope my comment isn’t too strict or old-fashioned…i’d be a schoolmarman.

  2. I’m sorry Jenny…i’m losing my braincells apparently. ‘Roche Lobe’ was cool…What month was ‘Theotokos’? Maybe i was seeing into the future…that you will write about a coke can in the desert … hmmm. Challenge. You come up with a beverage and geographic landscape for me too and i’ll do my best. I used to know this guy i worked with who everybody thought was an asshole and i got to talking to him one day and he turned out to be a closet poet and we started a project in a notebook with a picture of a chimp in a tuxedo eating a banana on the front and it was pocketsized so he’d start a poem on one page then i’d take his last line and make it my first line and so forth and so on till after about 3 months we almost had it filled but then he gets back into the Baptist Church and refocuses, you know, cause you have to do that every so often when things get wild and you’ve forgoten stuff you should remember about life. Anyway, life’s like that i guess. true story. Keep up the poems.

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