2 Poems by Jean LeBlanc

Grave-Robbing-Main
.
Snatching the Body
.
If you are lucky, the night is coolish and dry. Especially dry. At least the ground is not compact, amenable to being moved yet again. If there are stars, you do not see them.
If one falls, blazing a trail across the heavens, it does so unnoticed. You have brought
at least one helper, but all mouths are mum, silent, tight-lipped, mute. Only the spades converse, an untranslatable slate, slate, slate in the receiving earth. And then the lid.
And then. A sign of the cross, or perhaps just brushing away a clod of dirt.
.
crocus
.
thousands of them each spring on the hillside high up where the snow melts slowly and there on the edge of snow/no snow did I say a thousand it’s more like stars on a clear night a sign of spring a promise though like any promise breakable shepherd’s tears it’s also called or shepherd’s folly because they are so beautiful these thousand thousand little blooms that we forget and a lamb wanders off or a wolf oh little lily this cleft of stony ground I sleep beside you and awaken crushed
.
Jean LeBlanc
I teach writing and literature at a community college in northwestern New Jersey. Teaching informs my poetry, inspiring me to imagine other times, other worlds—and the connections to our time, our world. My poems have been published in several collections, most recently A Field Guide to the Spirits (Aqueduct Press, 2015). Art and photography also complement my writing, pushing me to see in new ways.
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