Taunja Thomson

Toward June

The stakes are sharp this time of year, winter berries dying before trees bear blooms, sag with fruit.  Whitman’s warblers flurry; some will not see June.  Yet slugs thrive in their slimy coats and moist ground caresses snails.  As I delve into dirt, I hold earthworms in my palms before moving them gently to another patch of loam.  Rain and the softening of soil conspire to make them sustenance for robins.

Adam named everything;
I, an insolent Eve, dare
to sift wind, stroke hills.


Viewing Wheat through Ethan’s Hair                          

We sit in the backseat. You dream
on your side by your window;
I do the same by mine.
We are like greedy children with windows.
The silence:  easy, unnoticed.
I forget road and sun.  I forget
that you have forgotten me.
Until the corner of my eye
calls me back—your hair
fine   straight   dark
blows in the open window
lifts to reveal an ocean
of sparkling honey
flashing and twisting–
your hair now streaked
with the blonde brightness
of Indiana wheat.


Between Moons

The sky cradled the moon softly after dawn today, then put it to rest and now holds the sun, a beacon drawing bright flowers toward it. Poppies open into small orange and red ponds, ready to hold rain, ants, motes of light. Bees cover themselves with nectar, revel in it, and share it, waltzing from pearly flowering pear to the flushed blossoms of crab apples. May swells and vibrates with their buzzing.

Orange crescent moon:
a tiger’s claw, sharp like bone
honed from hornets’ nest.


 

Taunja Thomson’s poetry has appeared in The Aurorean, Lime Hawk Collective Arts Journal, Really System, Squalorly, Wild Age Press, The Cahaba River Journal, Watershed Review, and Sandy River Review, and Potomac will feature her work in an upcoming edition. Her poem Seahorse and Moon was nominated for the Pushcart Award in 2005.