Goblin Fruit: Autumn EditionShadow Sister
I lie here curled in fire: the child who's me
entwined so tightly in my arms my veins
are pulsing, gold as ghostly cosmic rains
that soak the ovulating moon. Then she
appears--her hairpins, knife-hilts glittery
with blood that oozes from her wounds, that stains
her blonde hair black--and plucks me out, restrains
the child, and eats it so I cannot flee.
We dance till lightning enters her, a bolt
that shimmers down her throat, that quickens in
her hips, an ecstasy that nearly kills me.
The wings of night unfold; the old stars molt.
She cries translucent tears that beard her chin:
I eat these, and a darkling power fills me.
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English and directs the Writing Center at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, MI. More than 300 of his poems have appeared in small magazines over the years. He has recent work in The Shantytown Anomaly, Triptych Haiku, and Wanderings. His favorite fruit is the apple.