An oak twig drops
in the path as we climb
the slippery needled
slope from the pond: nine

flame-shaped leaves,
glossy, with yellow-
green sinews veering
out from red spines;

under the leaves, two
acorns divagate
from woody cups:
shiny, metallic,

verdant, as acorn-
meat presses from
inside out, volume
thrusting to smooth

the tumid surface
of tiny mast-woman
breasts, nipple-
points centering pale

aureoles. We climb
slowly, carrying
a wicker basket up
the slippery path.

A Message from the Editors

Our past successes are owed to our greatest ambassadors: our readers. Our future rests on your support, as The New Criterion Editor Roger Kimball explains. Will you help us continue to bring our incisive review of the arts and culture to the next generation of readers?

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 2 Number 8, on page 62
Copyright © 2018 The New Criterion |