Cones                                                                                                                   —James Dott

containers for the stuff of sex
the tiny males
packed with pollen
released to the mercy
of gravity and wind
so much is made
that always some will drift
to female cones, tube in
to the ovules
penetrate the egg
and these cones will swell
with their growing wealth of seeds

tight green
going golden
homely brown
fused to branch

in time
even the miser’s fist

torn loose by the gale
disassembled by beak and tooth
by paw and hand
the tithe is taken
the rest
let fall

James Dott

James (Jim) Dott is lives with his wife and daughter in Astoria, Oregon at the mouth of the Columbia River. A retired elementary school teacher, he taught in Oregon and overseas. His poetry has appeared in Written River, Turtle Island Quarterly, Southern Poetry Review, and previously in Green Linden. He has work forthcoming in Blue Heron Review and In Layman's Terms. Jim is the author of the chapbook, A Glossary of Memory (Blind Slough Books), an imagined memoir in 26 poems. In October 2016 he participated in the Tupelo Press 30/30 Project. Visit his website for more on his work. 

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2017