the iron lady

hair an unborn rain color
lips a flower-breath festival
eyes a double sunset

fingers in winter sift firewood ash
to rescue spent nails from common burial

feet in spring re-search back alleys
where hands scavenge
rusted bolts broken blades small tangles of wire

a whole-body finale
upon the strike of midsummer’s noon
charges its garden
armed with a double-handled digger

twelve holes later under stinging shower
she circles and begins a wait
for the new of the next moon

at that exact moment by lantern light
she feeds in her yearly steel-crumb collection
backfills each hole with drooling soil then
celebrates with raisins
and juicy pitted prunes

she nourishes the earth she must
because some men
have bled its metal out

she nurses the earth she must
because she must

so she reaches a fist out to the night
pulling in a positive charge then

amused by its sudden gravity in her chest
tunnels through her unlit house
all the way to the mirror
to laugh at the image
of a servant who drops to her knees
on warm mornings
and fingers the globe like a rosary bead



Poem by Climbing Sun

Climbing Sun is a world and inner traveler, body-surfer, poet, teacher, engineer and building designer. He has taught poetry in California schools and is the author of two chapbooks and a novel. He is currently published in several journals and resides in Boca Raton, Florida. His writings are an ongoing attempt to integrate the earthly, human, and spirit realms. He holds a Bachelor of Civil Engineering from the University of Florida and maintains a writing blog.



Photograph by Jannis_VviaFlickr