Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-six
Winter 2014
I Brought the Shovel to My Bed
Carol Berg

The red plastic blade all faded
and warped, spider
webs, rusted pine needles
threaded across its handle
from the shed

to shovel your fragrance

from my dreams. Honey
suckle and the deep
spice of you. The sheets
laying so green and calm,
pillows so innocent only
the curtains sure of their

guilt as they held the delicate
moonlight inside their waiting
creases. Dark hours tilting
recklessly in my mind.

What word unlocks you? Where
have you hidden my nightly
name? My bed imagining
the contours of your weight.
My bed with its uncoilings
and unanswered fires.

About Carol Berg

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