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Elegy for Spring’s Midfwife

Elegy for Spring’s Midwife


She was mad for dirt.



her calloused hands

worked bone meal

into small holes,

placing corms just so.

Wielding a sharp blade,

she slashed apart

clumps of daffodil bulbs.

She whispered, Howdy, worms!

Do your thing.

Mud under her nails,

smudges on her cheeks.

Chill winds chapped her skin,

whipped hair into her eyes.

The ground under the knees

of her threadbare jeans

colder, harder every year.

At last the soil clung to her

like a vine, reclaiming her but not

those perennial springtime blooms.

(This is the first in a series of poems by Poetess SylvIa Vaughn which The Arachneed will be publishing in the coming days. )


Sylvia Riojas Vaughn photo

Sylvia Riojas Vaughn is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She has been selected as a Houston Poetry Fest Juried Poet three times.  She belongs to the Dallas Poets Community. Her work appears in Red River Review, Triadæ, HOUSEBOAT, Diálogo, Desde Hong Kong: Poets in conversation with Octavio Paz, Bearing the Mask: Southwestern Persona Poems (Dos Gatos Press, 2016), and anthologies and journals in the U.S. and abroad.

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