The Shrine on the Corner of Cottage and Pine
On this fierce morning when I beseech
the piercing wind to linger at my back,
I turn onto Pine from Cottage Lane.
Soon the shrine’s morning glory vine
will trumpet purplish-blue flutes
in and out of a three-foot-high wrought iron fence.
Raucous clusters of black-breasted sparrows
will flock to the backyard birch, then splash
in the font’s cool water. Like hedonistic heretics
they will ignore the front yard’s granite Francis.
Of late I have not seen the cronish owner
fetchThe Post from her driveway.
Even the rusted bikes leaning for eons
against her fence have vanished.
Could Francis and the glory be next?
Aztecs used the vine for mystic self-transcendence.
From its roots they knew
ecstatic visions might blossom.
Robin's wings might sprout from their spines,
an orchard of orchids explode from their chests.
A nine time Pushcart nominee, Liz Dolan has published 2 poetry collections and will soon have her short story collection, Catholic, Practicing, published by Cave Moon Press.
Amethyst Review 