Today's poem is by Beth Bachmann


The mouths of the dead are always

open. Quit

                  running your trap. Lean

back. Let the plover eat the leeches off

your tongue and call it symbiont:

mistletoe; you grow so attached

to the apple. Come rain. It's the perfect


Copyright © 2012 Beth Bachmann All rights reserved
from the Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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