American Culture · American Literature · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry

Mary Rose O’Reilley

When he uncovers fiddleheads by the spring,
why does he always think of that first sight
of her thigh in the peach-colored dress, of his hand’s
searching moss with its red-gold stamens, the spring
in that arid landscape like something from Canaan
under his tongue?

— Mary Rose O’Reilley, from “The Abandoned Farm,” Poetry (2007)

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