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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.


Rain

on our doorstep

like a stray cat leaving

pawprints.


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,</