16 April 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 1
Terrene
My sister's body is expanding to the open stretch of a meadow,
a mountain or shore or total Earth all balanced on her
two legs that months ago supported just one torso.
She has created a room and a laboratory, a private table,
a self-cultivating farm. She is a terrarium,
a magician and a god or only an ordinary woman.
She is waiting for the heat of August to come pouring
out of her. August when the orange ball of sun grows
fat and full. That orange, burning, ripened sun.
About the author:
Sommer Antrim lives in Oakland, CA. Between poems she's traveled recently in Russia, Rwanda, and Mali, as well as to the peak of Kilimanjaro. This is her first publication. She can be contacted at sommer.antrim [at] gmail [dot] com.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Sommer Antrim at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 9, No. 1, where "Terrene" ran on April 16, 2009. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
