Poet

By Chase Robbins

Poet 

Drenched like a fresh fish, she cawed 

From hills of cloud-drab and mire-mold

Until all leeches in the coated water

Sucked oil to squirm and seethe 

On the ripples this woman created. 

No movement but a tighten mute 

Resolve strutting firm toward stems. 

Mosquitoes flapped dry-thirsty, even though 

Rains pattered plip-plop, filling mole mounds

Where they had given birth. 

A throng of vampires 

Grappled with strung flies, a metamorphic 

Pen, wing leathered to lungs, beads burst 

To mouth. Stuttered when a woman marched 

On, under the cover of a quiet din. 

Photo Credit: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/27/books/review/red-comet-heather-clark-sylvia-plath.html