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My Wisteria


Stagnant in December, a bare stick clinging

                                                          to a trellis—like a woman

stranded in the wind without the proper overcoat.


                 Memories of Cicada filled nights,

                                                                           and perfume,

its scent misting the veranda lamps with ribbons

                                                                           of light pouring on purple petals,


she remembers:


A lilac shawl draped over her,

                                                        In her season,

she was cloaked in everything that flowered.


Now, another year etches itself on her gnarled branches,


She has no choice but to be content 

                                                                 until the murmurs

                                                                                             Of all that blooms purple



                                            happen, yet once again.



The Freedom from Being Beautiful 

after a line in the poem Menopause by C. Prudence Arceneaux


The manicured body,

replenished skin,

and the avoidance of the syrupy desires,

the lusting glow of everything bronze.


Hair managed, eyes shadowed,

the arched and high cheekbone turning 

into the right angle, away from the sun,

and anything else that might burn through the work.


The nightly rituals, the glossy cover photo

touched up, but never touched, never knowing

the comfort of what can be discovered 

in the uncovering of one's uncharted skin.



Laurie Kuntz has been nominated for a Pushcart and Best of the Net prize. Her book, The Moon Over My Mother's House is published by Finishing Line Press. Her 5th poetry bookTalking Me off the Roof  is forthcoming from Kelsay Press in late 2022. › home-1 

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