My partner buried eight human placentas
in a circle at our meadow’s edge.
A midwife, she invoked the feminine
from all directions. In turn,
I carved a twelve-foot cedar pole,
erected it at the center.
When she and I divorced,
the pole traveled with me.
I planted the shaft,
somewhat shorter by this time,
on property shared with my new partner.
Things with her have soured,
and now the carving lies
covered by more moss
and dead branches each year.
This spring
families of bark beetles,
potato bugs, small spiders
are hard at work in their new
home.
Life giving phallus? Marauding cock? Both? Figuring this out has proven to be a lifetime’s work for me. And for many men.
By the end of this poem, it’s fair to ask, “what’s next?” a question for which I have no immediate answer. However, in the short run it looks like a pretty good deal for the bugs.
Moving the totem was interesting. It made for a protruding pickup load. I briefly considered entering it as a float in the local “Grand Old 4th (of July)” parade, but decided against it.
Post a Comment