Jan Lee Ande
Selected poems from
Floating Around the
Cloister
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Corners of the Mouth | After the Burning | Sabbatical
Corners of the MouthHer hands loosen the warm musty
smell of soil.
Her fingers untangle roots. Red
chard raises veined hands in the wind.
Always she could taste the
fear in meat—
muscle turned stringy and bitter
yellow marrow with its history of loss.
Carrots bury their roots into
earth.
Thick stalks lift the heavy heads of cauliflower
(those rough orbs white as moons).
Some nights animals visit her
dreams.
They are herded up the chute
—their drone thickening in her throat.
Picking up a stick, she draws
the two thin lines
of an open mouth. Between them
one dark gash—scratched out of dirt.
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© Jan Lee Ande
2007