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SI Poem Marguerite Rivas sipoet sipoet1@aol.com Hey guys, I've been on a paper grading marathon and needed to get this out.


Now listen, Muse, be beside me this day
but don't speak of Aphrodite's beauty
nor extoll the naiad's vernal hymn.
They have little to do with us planted here
on this green island off the eastern shore.

I invoke you to turn the solemn winds
to make full the ears of clanging deckhands.
Inform their hollow work-day echoing song
sweeping the ferry's steel-clad nether deck,
spiriting swift my people going home.

No brave Odysseus seeks a womb-like shelter
deep within my island's iron-ore caves,
nor does Penelope join our handspinners,
yet wool, carded,twirled, twists in lovely
interlaces on the wheel at Richmond Town.

So listen Muse, would you be so kind
as to find the dreamy dancing spirit
of the Greenbelt and dispatch her to me?

Will you awaken the oysters nestling
in the sludge of their briny beds asleep
for more than a hundred drowsy years?
Will you coax them soft to whisper to me,
in their translucent sex, the sacred
song of my marshland, woodland, island home?

They speak, in tongues, the radiant truth
of this island off this eastern coast:
she slumbers;she's scarred;her woods
are heavy
with raccoons asleep in the treetops;
there's iron in her fertile belly still
and sharp-billed marsh birds, homing, nest
at her reedy, golden breast at sunset.



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