Spoonful: A Gathering of Stone Soup Poets

An extension of Cambridge's Stone Soup Poetry Venue.

Coleen T. Houlihan

Photo by Janice Raynor

First Steps

With a mother’s love
I bid myself farewell.
Young babe— legs slightly askew,
I kick up dust, raise puddles
if I see them; the fool
just beginning— I kiss myself
Adrianna’s sting slowly unravels—
it is life which drops
the golden apple—
(Eve, the beautiful plagiarist
still waits for God to give her
her own song.)
When I stop is when I feel it—
an arrow marking me for death
or love or love of death—
every bit the joker
I write poems while the sand glass
empties, kiss time on both cheeks—
if she frowns, I never notice
keep my eyes closed
open them only
when she is gone.