on a sunday

By Jodi Payne


she comes to me on a sunday

cherries weeping

the first blossoms of spring

the buds are on the pear trees but the fruit

is not yet ripe


she comes in with the eastern wind

baring the glamor of her sex

and the hunger of an animal

and touches me


my body becomes supple

becomes fire


she comes to me

comes for me

comes with me

on a sunday

my garden has never been so beautiful