Mary Marie Dixon | The Way of (Dis)Order

At moon’s last silver

she dug tubers

of iris and split

to profligate

the silver meat

Under star points

the shriveled brown

flaked and fell

to decay

Incongruent Eden

already in cycle

to spin and drop

to crease

an order

imposed by the first woman

In that tamed creation

she surrendered to

a sleep

thoughtless and vague

unordered

In the tomb of her making

the iris rooted

its blades piercing

to double

and scatter

This is the way of the wild

to shape itself

in spite

struggling

under moon’s phases

predictable

but not satisfying

A lust to know the way of things

tendrils

prod earth and reach

to new ground

refreshing themselves

in expansion

Boundaries blur

in territorial predation

A slivered iris

stakes its own domain

dirt clings to woman’s skin

in the virtue of her digging

Moon’s one face

obscures the face of God

Visual art by Mary Marie Dixon