Poetry.

A while ago I posted a poem from a collection I have of love poetry written by women.

Somehow I never got around to posting another - even though I mentioned this very one in a comment to clodia_metelli. It is much less romantic! But it made me smile, and when I shared it with my daughter it made her smile, too.

Unlike Sharon Olds I am not a great fan of the shell-less gastropod - but I do like this:



The Connoisseuse of Slugs

When I was a connoisseuse of slugs
I would part the ivy leaves, and look for the
naked jelly of those gold bodies,
translucent strangers glistening along the
stones, slowly, their gelatinous bodies
at my mercy. Made mostly of water, they would shrivel
to nothing if they were sprinkled with salt,
but I was not interested in that. What I liked
was to draw aside the ivy, breathe the
odor of the wall, and stand there in silence
until the slug forgot I was there
and sent its antennae up out of its
head, the glimmering umber horns
rising like telescopes, until finally the
sensitive knobs would pop out the
ends, delicate and intimate. Years later,
when I first saw a naked man,
I gasped with pleasure to see that quiet
mystery reenacted, the slow
elegant being coming out of hiding and
gleaming in the dark air, eager and so
trusting you could weep.

Sharon Olds.


I might look at slugs in a slightly different light now... or the other thing.