Poetry by t.m. thomson
Maybe the woods are on fire with green.
Maybe wild violets pepper the ground
in the March-cool air. Maybe leaves hang
from rain-drenched branches slick
with October or maybe snow’s audacity
coats ground & breath. Maybe regardless
I choose to sit in a broad-seated swing
pump my legs & sweep back & forth
scraping soil & coming face-to-face
with sky. Maybe I slow-kiss dawn & savor
afternoon & trust twilight, staying out
as long as moon & wearing a red dress.
It would be lovely if women would dance
below me. They could wear red as well
& shout encouragement at me & Glee
would rule the day & night.
Laughter & off-color conversation
would raise temples from mushroom
& moss. Surely the gods of the forest
would hear & come slithering/hopping/
soaring with heads raised & noses
twitching their curiosity at our offerings
of stirred leaves & shuffled snow
revealing black seed & apple rind
shards. We are but crumbs of cosmos
ourselves—why not blaze woods
with the green of our voices, shower them
with ahhh, shiver them with Yes?
(inspired by Niels Corfitzen – “Swimming Between Clouds,” 2021)
Three of t.m. thomson’s poems have been nominated for Pushcart Awards. She is co-author of Frame and Mount the Sky (2017), author of Strum and Lull (2019), which placed in Golden Walkman’s 2017 chapbook competition, and The Profusion (2019). Her first full-length collection, Plunge, will be published next year.
