Annie chasing butterflies

Tara Gilbert-Brever

has me smiling. My laughter is pulled under, collected
into the garglerumble of the lawnmower,
sprayed back out, mingling
with and marrying itself to the flecks of grass.

Annie's buttercream body twists off
the ground, her teeth chopping air, clamping
onto the hot leafy breast of summer. Annie's a lab,
a birddog--she's only interested in hunting
flying things. She'll chase a killdeer halfway

across the cornfield, the cries of the motherbird
whistling a shrill alarm back to her blank nest.
Annie didn't have the hip guarantee,
so her gait has already begun to swivel
outward. No-one promised miles

of steady steps, no-one can measure
those maybe-miles and which might be the last.
Annie lopes around the mower, follows
every ribbon that I cut into the lawn.
I'm yanking her along behind me--those ribbons

will harness her body tighter and tighter
so she'll have to run faster, she'll finally catch
me. And when she does, she'll sink her withered
bones into me, she'll chase her way through my veins
and I'll know she's there--

the hair on my arms will yellow, suddenly.
I'm mowing just for the sharp of freshcut
catnip, for the mint of crushed groundcover,
the powderysweet of pulped dandelions. My wheels
are the pestles, grinding up summer into one concoction,

blending: a sungold dog arcing through the air,
a breeze green with the pulsing of wildflower
hearts, a winged creature carrying
the sunset behind her in aquapink tatters.

---

Tara Gilbert-Brever says "I have 2 cats and 1 husband. I have an English degree from UW-Parkside but have yet to find a job. Instead of working, I like to create photo-art on my computer. When I'm not tinkering on the PC, I serve as Assistant Poetry Editor at Eclectica.org. My poetry has appeared in the following zines: Eclectica, Muse Apprentice Guild, small spiral notebook, Poems Niederngasse, Wicked Alice , Stirring, etc...