By Colleen Egan
I. A sickness inside me
from poppy seed eyes;
your gentle touch, like sleep
or death.
II. The tree bears the sweetest fruit,
and in this festering flesh,
my morality seems distant,
bitter secrets held by bitter lips.
III. Every word is a delicacy.
A lulling taste of dirt in teeth,
your hands are shovels,
my body my grave.
“I’m a Nicolet student in the Liberal Arts Transfer program, and my love for modernizing old gods is expressed in this poem. There’s a poetic beauty, as well as comfort, in relating the classics to modern issues, and if nothing else, it lets us know our suffering isn’t done alone.”
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Editor's Note: There are two community/staff poems for today's posting.
“The Tree”
By Alexis Nelson
How I liked to climb the tree
with my Daddy helping me.
I knew my grandma was watching silently.
I’m glad I never skinned my knee
although I got scratched from the bark.
The City took it down
but there is still a mark in my heart.
"Alexis is nine years old. Her grandmother suffers from Alzheimer's, and Alexis has been in the process of dedicating a poem book to her that she has been working on in school."
This poem was submitted by her mother, Vicki Nelson, who is a Nicolet employee.
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“Sichuan Noodles”
By Shane Teter
The only Sichuan noodles
Worth eating are Finnish.
The only words
Worth writing are verses.
The Buddha sits in a northern garden --
A random button pusher shows
Four noble truths: Think, hike, write
And [your idea here].
"On the shores of the Gitche Gumee
by the shining Big-Sea-Water"
I see a sailboat
with two friends on it.
"This poem goes out to a couple 'a friends of mine."
