by Joanna McClure

I long to give this body —
Not to science, not to the fire.

I long to be given, whole
For the fish in the sea to nibble away.

I long to be buried, naked,
Under the earth, to be returned to the earth.

I want to be placed high,
On an altar made of sticks, for the birds,

For the birds of prey to feed on,
For the sun to whiten my bones.

I long, long to join myself
Back, back into all that life

From which I came.
I long, long, to feed life directly.

by Joanna McClure

Like your engraving — I stand
Behind, to one side of,
The long open door.

Outside, night light
Makes a Palmer sky
From black clouds and a large moon.

I stand still . . .
A part of
That other picture

That engraving
Of a woman
Leaning in the doorway,

Her spirit
Quietly reaching
Out . . . into diffuse world light,

Which calls to her
As the moonlight
Now calls to me.

by Joanna McClure

Flies buzz
Dry dust
Hot bright sun

The taste of canned milk
The smell of pines
Mothers move around a wood stove.

by Joanna McClure

The tsunami
Seen from a hillside video camera
Advances slowly, serenely
Carrying trucks, houses, trees, trash.

While in frame right
A distant car drives, heedless,
Down the highway towards
The tunnel to town.