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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 1, March 2014


Marge Piercy
Cape Cod, Massachusetts

Sometimes Things Slow Down for a Moment

Fall is a time when everything feels in a hurry. Swallows line up on the wires chatting and one day are gone. The squirrels are ravenous. The monarchs are busy in the milkweed, about to beat their fragile wings to shreds crossing the Gulf of Mexico. We bring in the last red and yellow peppers, sweet and hot. The asters are lavender-blue beside the road and in the meadow. Hawks soar above High Head on the way south. The wild goldenrod waves its banners. Storms gather out to sea, rush ashore and tear at the trees. Soon the maple is stripped to its branches. Frost rolls in from Canada with a scent of decay till the elderly tomato vines sag in brown loops and the hollyhock steeples are gaunt and grey.

fluttering to my feet
a leaf, webbed
gold with brown

moth's wing wet,
torn loose



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