Sharon Webster 

Some poems on the theme of hands in Five2One Magazine, Nov. 9, 2016

Hear this poem. Click this "Since my mother died she has taken up residency here..."

Sharon reading "Oh Planet," at Fletcher Free Library, Celebration of Burlington Poets, April 4, 2015

Sharon reading "What Dirt Smells Like"

 Purchase book: https://www.createspace.com/4845564      https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sharon-Webster                      

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_________________________________________

   AT THE STUDIO

   She decided that when she got there

   she would be okay. Like a place

   could do that:  Like

   a place could rearrange her

   for her. She

   came for the time.

   She came for the backdrop, the backtrack, the endrun, the redress,

   the sideways.

   And she came to watch. She came for the time to watch.

      ~

   I’m down here

   where nothing is lonely. I’m down

   here where

   all is forgiven. I’m down here

   where everything is given

   a theme-

   song and a rhythm,

   a lean

   letter-

   opener, a narrow

   blade of licorice

   a choice.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

   IN THE DREAM

   I.

   In the dream it was a totem pole.

   In the dream there was more than one.

   In the dream we were working together.    

   II.

   In the dream it was stubborn. 

   In the dream it resisted

   completion; it wanted to be a clothes rack

   or a croquet mallet.

   In the dream it would not be built.

   III.

   In the dream it was a penis.

   In the dream it was strapped to my waist

   or surgically attached.

   n the dream it was a soft nozzle,

   a nose.  In the dream

   it could smell me.

   IV.

   In the dream it was a dance.

   It was a dance I invented

   and it moved both ways.

   In the dream I leaned

   into them both

   and fell.

   In the dream I filled.

   In the dream I was a pattern.

   I repeated and grew.

   V.

   In the dream I was walking

   toward the totem, the penis,

   the dance.  In the dream

   I was carrying it off.

_______________________________________________________________

            WHAT DIRT SMELLS LIKE:         

                       deep thunder, layers

                       of mink

                       stole, chocolate

                       cake, crumbled

                       trees, human

                       blood, one-third

                       of your life, the opposite

                       of sky, sleep’s

                       thirsty floor,

                       silver and

                       worms

                       working it under,

                       under and in-

                       side and out, a bed.

Chapbooks of poetry for sale 

 are $5.00, no shipping fee.  

 "This Way,"  2008,

"The Door," 1995,

"Everyone Lives Here," 1992,

"Not That Fastened," 1989,

"This Fragrance Too," 1988, &

"Ways Around," 1986

Email to buy one.