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Jeanne Julian

Let Them Eat

And so, my love, let the ants

make of our humble picnic a feast

as we lie here on the quilt

finding, elsewhere, luscious treats to nibble.

Your earlobe a tender hors d’oeuvre,

my palm a savory saltine,

your kneecap a cupcake,

my breast a cone of soft-serve.

Let them eat, with their pinchy mandibles,

while our recipe for open-mouthed joy

seems too sweet to bear in silence

and becomes a hymn upon my tongue.

Unwanted, but once there

Not again.

We look outside,

up street and down,

and wonder, who

left this for us?

A random generosity.

Feral gray gift,

unwanted but once

there…. Well,

we need it.

It’s almost comforting.


on our doorstep

like a stray cat leaving


Think of a name for it.

Visit to a Granite Island, Maine

We get there by driving a rollercoaster rise and

descent on a narrow bridge built in the Depression.

Breath comes back on the causeway,

but even that feels dicey, like a storm could sink it.

Spruce and lupine hide the underlying shelf of stone

once quarried for a Rockefeller fountain.

On the main road, banners share smiling images:

each face of the 30 high school graduates. Now what,</