Issue Sixteen - April 2010

Beauty Marauds

By Monica Woelfel

They have no mercy
as they step in their high-heeled party shoes 
into the meadow.
Dark-furred lips gather with expert care
all the low-growing greens,
heads nod; teeth crop.

There are no rules
to obey that their trembling hides
don’t know. Nostrils open for the scent
of dog, these come to relish how every leaf
has a shape, size, texture 
specific to its heart of flavor: the waxy madrone, 
tart tiny bud of ocean spray,
long palate-scratching tassels of fescue,
tang of new purples, etiolated yellows,
ceanothus, rose, strawberry
tender as a tongue.

What each plant provides is enough 
but no more,
so lips and teeth take every twig, 
sepal, each fresh shoot, 
leave behind only the frail impression of a shrub.
With mincing steps the insouciant diners move 
steadily downhill toward wilder snacks—
salmonberry and salal, in the creek’s draw, 
where their cool-hooved passings become mere stippled alder shadows again 
and the pure beasts
revert to dream, camouflaged imaginings,
unlikely truths, still hungry.

Copyright Monica Woelfel 2010

Monica Woelfel has an M.F.A. in creative writing from University of British Columbia. Her work has appeared in literary journals, including Seattle Review, Room of One’s Own and The North American Review. She lived for many years on Orcas Island and served as a Washington State Artist in Residence before moving in 2006 to her mother’s hometown of Soquel, CA. In their spare time, she and her husband love to build structures using clay, straw, sand and stone.

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