by Genevieve Legacy
my dog speaks in toenail clicks,
shifts her weight behind the door,
another patient click—
there’s no such thing as alone,
Himalayan blackberries
invasive stretching,
reach for more ground,
the meanest thorns
in the neighborhood,
moth white butterfly
crazy wobble flight,
gray fence, black rock wall,
a mailbox squatting across the road,
sticking out its red plastic tongue,
the holly bush has found a new location,
strident prickle-leaves in silhouette,
imagine the sting,
overgrown cascade of ivy,
a black tank-top woman walker,
a Subaru, a dark escalade,
wild grass shoots where my kid didn’t mow,
it will take my ferocious choppers
to cut it back,
light shifts from gray to less,
blackberry branch bobs green berries
too soon to pluck, an SUV passes
my window on the street side world,
voyeur of the supra mundane,
dry red shrubs across the street,
ginger bush from 1972
my mother’s armpits
a statement of freedom, rebellion?
my own search for what’s right—
hairy legs & pits, a prolific bush,
earthy sandal shoes—
no one can tell me what to do.
there’s no escape from this house habitat,
20 thousand leagues under the sea,
a Japanese apartment capsule in space,
nowhere to go but the bathroom,
out the window mind wanderer,
black crow line of flight,
straight out of view—
another metallic rolling box,
a dog walking a woman
cellphonepressedtoherear,
my dog’s back at the door wondering
where the hell everyone is?
Genevieve Legacy is a writer-artist living in the South Puget Sound Region of Washington State. With an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University, Legacy was a freelance writer for the alternative weekly publication Jackson Free Press from 2012-2016, writing about jazz and blues musicians, artists, spiritual practice & pilgrimage, restaurants, and rodeo clowns. Her poetry has been published in The Hazmat Review, Napalm Health Spa, Poetry Superhighway, and Sensitive Skin Magazine. Art by Karyn Kloumann, founder of award-winning indie publisher Nauset Press.
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