A letter from Spain
reads, “I poured the old woman’s blood in the garden,”

as though it were possible to explain such an action,
as though that sentence could follow any other, or

be followed. I read the letter over and over, and later
take a man in my mouth, drink a spoonful of his life,

as though it were possible to explain such an action.
If I write about the blood of that old woman, returned

to earth, what will I write that blood and earth have not
already sung? If I write about that man who writhed

and pulsed against my throat, what will I write except
his murmuring my name, the slim luck of our meeting,

how we did not love and yet touched briefly, as he offered
a half-portion of all our beginnings.

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DAVID WINTER's poems have appeared in The Shop, Low Log, and Feast of Fools: Poems, Stories, and Essays on Sacred Fools and Tricksters. He graduated from Sarah Lawrence College, where he studied creative writing and literature. He leads creative writing workshops through New York Writer's Coalition.

2 responses to “Blood and Earth”

  1. […] host and curator for this event is NYWC leader and poet David Winter. David leads a long-running workshop for LGBT elders atSAGE and another for seniors at the 14th […]

  2. Sanchari says:

    This made me choke. Good stuff.

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