The Vine That Ate The South

Kudzu
grows overnight,
voluble vines twisting,
growing at jack-in-the-beanstalk
fury.

A barn
is lost beneath
the relentless green growth
which swallowed our vegetable
garden.

We close
all our windows
against the green darkness
lest it creep in, strangle us in
our sleep.

The End of the Drought

Witchcraft
people whispered
when they saw her black cloak—
dark clouds gathering behind her,
fresh rain.

Eggshell Moon

broken
shells in the nest
in the old maple tree
a set of initials carved long
ago

Black Widow

demure
in appearance,
such a biddable type—
her trap sprung, he never saw it
coming

                                                                                                © Deborah P. Kolodji

Loch Raven Review Fall 2005 — Vol. I, No. 1
← Contents Page     |     Cover Page     |     Home     |     Contributor Notes →