Daniel Nathan Terry
Other Poems
The Witch’s Tree
Take my hand and we will go across
the black-water roadside ditches wriggling
with the larvae of mosquitoes and the tadpoles
of toads. We will go over the rusted tracks
into the field of rain-soaked blackberries
and fragrant ferns. When we reach the witch’s
tree our waists will be wet from walking with
the grasping gods of the afternoon. We will cast
off this world’s weavings, crawl inside the oak,
curl our backs against her mossy walls, fasten
our mouths onto some verdant vine and suckle
side by side like twins sharing the womb.
first appeared in Golden Isis
Red Oak, monoprint 2008 by Benjamin Billingsley
What I Wanted to Hear You Say
Peel me off,
shake me loose.
Drape my gestures
on the chair,
hang my habits
on the hooks
that hold your belts,
your ties.
Fold our days,
shelve them
with your sweaters,
tuck our nights
into the hamper
with your socks,
boxers,
pillow slips.
Peel me off your skin.
Make me stretch
to touch you.
first appeared in an early version in Atlantis
Irises and Chrysanthemums - acrylic on canvas 2008
by Benjamin Billingsley
No More Phantom Pain, acrylic 1996 by Benjamin Billingsley
Scarecrow
Scarecrow crafter,
burlap-tailor,
black-eye smudger,
when I’m done,
crows mistake you
for a man:
silent shooer,
stock-still farmer,
to them alone
a tartan terror.
I fisted through
your flannel,
spiced your straw
with artemesia,
puffed your chest
with wilted-rue,
perfumed your thighs
with summer sweet –
another half-attempt
at love – and to keep
the flies from you,
who do not care
if you are flesh or straw;
stand still in June,
they will devour you.
If they don’t and you see
the summer through,
the sun, the wind, the rain
make fast work of you
until your pie-pan hands
cease to flutter
and the crows
begin to mutter
that you can’t be much.
Winter comes, now
the squash begins
to earn its name,
cold snaps beans.
Like tomatoes that turn
from green to glass
my red for you
is missing.
How long before
the snow and I
take you down?
first appeared in Atlantis
