Poems by John Pilkey |
Marilyn the Willow |
Marilyn Pilkey in Canyon Country July, 1976 Archaic poets kept their females small, especially the feet as though a shrub were nobler than the glory of those tall and spreading vegetables that rub the sky with leafy palms instead of stub. Marilyn the Willow long of limb projecting four into a leafy pose, expresses contrapositive and slim branches that extrude ten fingers, toes everywhere arborial will power grows. Framed by garden heat at every angle, she threads the winding branches of a tree with summer pair of azure cuffs that dangle above two sovereign heels she braces free and rides the stirrup crotches gracefully. This Willow need not ever weep for me; her shape is what my spirit has become, assimilating hope into a tree whose antique spreading signifies for some the power to know where shapeliness is from. John Davis Pilkey |
