Fall 2009

Table of Contents - Vol. V, No. 3


Poetry    Reviews    Fiction   

Yvette Neisser Moreno


Praying Mantis

for Dottie May

I should have known
when the magnolias died in frost
that it would be her last spring---
the way the blossoms hung on for weeks,
brown and wilted, shrouding the house
with their flitting petal shadows.

She had taken to wandering the yard
as if surveying the inches of grass
and patches of garden, each flowering plant
she had tended these fifty years. She no longer
called to me across the fence
to show me something of beauty---
a budding hydrangea, a ripening fig

or a praying mantis
crouched among daffodils,
perched on its forelegs
in a position of total alertness,
total tranquility.



From under the earth, like lava, like oil,
like boiling water through a geyser,
they emerge

From seventeen years of darkness
beneath our feet, from that humming
from feeding on roots

they push through the surface
to sunlight, tree trunks,
telephone poles, flower stems

where they cling and wait,
sing and wait.


© Yvette Neisser Moreno



Poetry    Reviews    Fiction   

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