Orbweaver by Maggie Menezes Walcott
I need a wonder
it needn’t be much
like wet shirts
on woven lines
whip-whapping
with the wind
the smells of new
leaves embossing
each sleeve
a small orbweaver
tickling a path
towards pockets
unfilled
a wonder
like the scent
when sugar and
starch are fed
to kept yeast
awakened from torpor
the rise
giving way to
soft pillows of
ferment
a wonder
like earth
tucked into
trimmed nails
coating epicondyle
of sharp elbow
dusted lines
creased like furrows
across strong face
glowing sweat
just enough
to wash some
away
a wonder
like soft words
whispered to
small bodies
downy heads
drawn together
shell ears opened wide
not yet closed
to grown wisdom
still believing
that enchantment
exists
a wonder
like this
needn’t be much
Deep in the wilds of Northern Michigan, Maggie Menezes Walcott lives with her family in a house they built themselves. Maggie always makes time for cuban coffee, dystopian fiction and red lipstick. She has a grossly unused degree in physical anthropology from Michigan State University. Her pieces have been published in Mothers Always Write, The Dunes Review, Last Leaves Magazine, The Dillydoun Review, and most recently, Every Day Fiction.