Blue Hydrangea

By on Sep 29, 2013 in Poetry

Blue hydrangea with river

Until his hands touched
       her body          she didn’t think                       about
                                    skin                  or woman                              
                      but hawk
                                    gliding long                  heat waves
                     circling                                 August                                           pastures.
     She didn’t              know                                     her body until he touched her
                                                                             like everything else                  she
                                                                      watched
                  invisible                           as rusted barbed wire in pasture grass.
         Like a river                                        her breasts, his hands, her skin
his hands             her fear                his mouth                    her throat               sudden
               bright lure            cast upstream                                             slowly drifting
          held loosely           in his hands        she hears
                 harmonica music              dog barking                         sees blue hydrangea
                                         storm clouds                       drowning                      in shallow water.

About

Mary Julia Klimenko lives by the water always, no matter where she lives. She resists the impulse not to throw herself in when she’s overjoyed or desperate, choosing instead, after many years of analysis, to collect shiny bits of glass that have washed ashore. She’s been writing poetry and short stories for forty years and says the Master’s Degree in Creative Writing wasn’t nearly as helpful as seizing every opportunity she’s had to run wild in the night.