Poems by Christine Butterworth-McDermott

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by Christine Butterworth-McDermott

From Canary Winter 2013-14

Christine resides in the piney woods of East Texas where flocks of grackles occasionally touch down.

Lotus seeds may remain viable
for as long as thirteen thousand years.
Roots to the bottom, the lotus sprouts
out of river soil to break the surface,
to spring pink into the air.
I swim in the muddy water of dark
attachment, pools of want and need.

The lotus unfolds its petals,
the expanding soul flowers.

I circle and circle the stalk
that leads to heaven, stir
the sludge of water. I cannot
tell what will sink and what
will rise from the murk.
I do not have that kind of time.

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