Janann Dawkins

Season's Arc

Hydrangea, water vessel, curlicue
of tissue, strange profusion, wafted leaves
but petalless, your fringe elicits view:
the clover curve of flowers reconceives
the flower. Heads of inflorescence weave
as fleshed umbrellas. Droves of bees infest
your pistils spread undressed upon the eaves.
Arrangements thrive against the calyx, crest
as if medallions thrust through stems. The zest
of summer thrums inside your scent: the bliss
exudes itself as nectar. Pollen, blessed
by wind, skims across your styles, a kiss
of chaos. Rude October blasts you dry
as heaven, licks your corymbs hot and high.

Sole Instinct

The dark vein of clouds
beneath the skin of sky
advances: taut, endowed
with strict energy.
The ground begins to shy:

grasses stand like dog
hair on a bristled back;
mosses barnacled on logs
shrink into grooved cracks
of bark; sheltered jack-

in-the-pulpits droop their hoods
over invisible faces.
Every creature in the woods,
except for man, places
its head inside what spaces

are hid from the eye of God
or that of His agent. Rain
and wind whip the pods
free of pollen and strain
to suck the petaled manes

from every oxeye's center.
Kinetic funnels extend:
nature's voodoo splinters
every bank and bend.
A cursive creek rescinds

its former home. The birds
forget their nests. The nests
take wing. Blurred
branches and feathers, pressed
by wind, slide to rest

several miles away.
The funnels retract; the sun,
storm's twin, allays
the black magic and stuns
the sky white. Done

with his work, Azrael clears
the crackled air, cleans
his cumulus scythe, and bears
the cleft spirits from the scene.
Man remains to be seen.


Janann Dawkins' work has appeared in publications such as Existere and Ouroboros Review, and soon will be featured in The Flea, Two Review, and Up the Staircase, among others. In 2008, Leadfoot Press published her chapbook Micropleasure. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she helps edit the eclectic journal Third Wednesday in Ann Arbor, MI.


Melissa Balmain
Janann Dawkins
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Gail Biederman: I use sewing as a form of drawing, as one way to alter a surface. Thread is my line, a physical presence that hovers in space in my installations. With both a cast shadow and an edge that catches the light, thread creates multiple realities, a jumbled mix of hard and soft, the solid and the ephemeral.
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