Mary Elizabeth Parker
TASTE
The breaking sweetness of a candy jelly egg in the mouth,
or the whole warm white shape of a boiled egg--
secrets that come undone
against the tongue; the tongue a sleeping fish
in the cave of the throat, waiting to rise to meet
good things: slip-collars of ziti for the tongue's tip,
red sauce that stings, bread, small bites
torn off with white teeth, the ease of butter,
melted pool against the palate--
the coin of the brain reserved for gusto coiled
at the base of the skull like a sleeping pup,
like dogs in sun sleeping,
drinking only when the dish is held for them,
their soft noses grazing a hand--
at night, mere shapes in air beneath the willow-
the dogs a fluid line of fur, cafe au lait and muscle,
every part grown up simply
from the dark clay where their muzzles flurry
scenting for grubs, buried wasps, the world beneath grass--
grass, white teeth tearing, freeing the gown of white root--
clay, grass, white teeth clamped on root,
grass, water, black mouths working.
Copyright 2000, Mary Elizabeth Parker
Mary Elizabeth Parker's collection of poems, The Sex Girl, was
released this Spring by Urthona Press as winner of the Second Urthona Poetry
Award. She has two chapbooks: That Stumbling Ritual and Breathing
in a Foreign Country. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing and a Ph.D.
in literature from the University of North Carolina, Greensboro. Of her
work, a poem and an essay have been nominated for Pushcart prizes. She
is creator and chair of the Dana Awards international literary competition.
Switched-on Gutenberg/Vol. 4, No. 2
|