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About Photography / Professional HeatherFemale/United States Recent Activity
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Literature
With the Sting
With the Sting
There is nothing to say
but something
is weighing on my mind like plutonium,
heavy metal named for the planet, once
upon a time.
Its radiation is toxic and cancer
in the bones may occur.
So much mineral matter means nothing
to the poison that lurks in the heft
of secrets.
Density becomes adjectival.
Bones become chalky and brittle and soft
like meal for fertilizer.
Flowers and tomatoes and food for dogs.
There is nothing to say
but something
is growing in my body like a malady.
It loiters behind my ribs and clavicles,
waiting for the chance to spread into
my heart, into my organs, slow and low.
It is revealed in the timbre of my voice,
in the tremble of my hand when I reach
for the touch of another.
Surreptitious intelligence beneath my skin,
it erupts into blemish and mars my flesh
like ultraviolet shafts of light.
It is death. It is her, the Beekeeper.
She has come to collect her narrative from my hold.
But the wisdom of the honey does not come before the sting.
With t
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Literature
Mourning Dove
The Mourning Dove
She cries out on the wasted air
a lamentation.
The most hunted bird in North America,
she lays but two eggs,
only two.
If the clutch should grow,
it is another female’s
eggs invading her nest.
Adorned with gray feathers to
blend with the fog
she weaves her poorly crafted nest
with her man standing
on her back.
She takes flight and her wings
whistle.
She soars at 55 miles per hour
then falls to avoid the forest raptor,
a hawk who wants her meat.
Elliptical wings are curious things.
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Literature
p u l l i n g petals
What everyone fails to see
is that when she is
p    u    l    l    i    n    g
                   petals
off daisies and other flowers
she's discovering how that
flower is puttogether.
Like my
brother with his bicycles-turned-motorcycles
Destruction for creation
in the end.
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Literature
Plicity VI: Charlotte
i. ZoŽ
She stops screaming.
She can't even feel it anymore;
there's just his breath on her face:
Tell me how brave you are,
tell me how hard you've been trying
.
. . .
Later.
She calls herself ZoŽ,
spends nights with a girl who is everyone --
washes her clothes, dries her hair.
Closer to earth than to heaven, but holy:
she's got a place for their bodies to meet.
ii. Mary
There is no pain, she says,
I've seen you before,
I know you so well
.
Counting the stars,
waiting for morning and the
light,  light,  light.
iii. Joan
He turned her into this,
into these hands, into these armies.
And when they come for her,
-- we'll see how brave she is,
we'll see how brave she is
--
she says,
it's not really me, I'm not really dying.
All this?  All this will be forgiven
.
iv. Charlotte
The place where their bodies met:
she can't sleep again.
Sunday night, Monday
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Activity


What a day. The rain is coming down. It's 40 degrees F. Yet somehow...today is beautiful and full of possibilities. It's good to be alive. It's good to create. I think I'll get on it.

deviantID

laurapalmer
Heather
Artist | Professional | Photography
United States
I am a photographer, story-teller, writer, wanderer, and lover of all things curious.
Interests

Comments


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:iconxork:
xork Featured By Owner Dec 20, 2016  Professional Interface Designer
Hi, Heather! :wave:
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:iconwowywow:
wowywow Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2009  Hobbyist General Artist
thankiez for the watch :heart:
Reply
:iconxma77yx:
XMA77YX Featured By Owner Jul 13, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks, you have a great gallery too :D
Reply
:iconrakastajatar:
rakastajatar Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2008  Professional Photographer
i hope you had a wonderful birthday!
Reply
:iconsydnerella:
sydnerella Featured By Owner May 4, 2008   Writer
thanks for the watch! :kiss:
Reply
:icono-uaglione:
O-Uaglione Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2008
I thought you had been killed and found in a plastic bag...
Reply
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