Lorrie Ransom
United States of America
bio:Lorrie Ransom is a California native who now resides in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Missouri with her husband, Warren.
They spend much of their time outdoors, working in the yard, hiking around in the
woods and practicing golf. Her poetry has appeared, or will appear, in Healthy Family
Magazine, USA Today, Entropic Desires, Wynterblue Thunder, Psychopoetica, 14 4 30 and The Sidewalk's End. Contact her at: Lorrie@poetic.com
CLAVEY TERRITORY
The Clavey was mine.
I owned it as a child,
spending weeks there,
never seeing a passerby.
I kept RC colas icy
in its waters,
baked potatoes in its soil,
fished and hiked and strung
my hammock from one pine to another.
I sat by the fire
surrounded by crisp air
with a hot face and wieners
on a whittled stick.
Its meadows were whispy
wide and wild with flowers,
the smell of caterpillars, fern
and manzanita.
Only a generation from then
my Clavey is a piece of piñata candy
... scrambled after by those
I do not know.
I am separated from it
in the throng, barely escaping
with skinned knees and the taste of
blood in my mouth.
Now, pressing a piece of old
tent canvas against my face
I can smell our times together.
It was my Clavey
it was mine.
Lexis Lamented
But the cud of vanity,
it churned within me,
like garbage collecting
and foaming,
riding stagnant edges of lapping shores,
waiting out a chasm sure to come.
And when it did,
Shards boiled
from the watery rim
and were born into the world
of the others living,
never to disintegrate,
sticking to everything for an eternity.
Convulsive and greedy breaths
to draw in composure
tasted of discomfort,
of immediate despair.
I wanted to gather them back.
It could not be done though.
They could not be murdered.
They could not
be uncreated.
Turning away from the sight of it
I could only yank the covers of humility
tight,
up against my throat
and keep them there.
