Ernie Wormwood



The first night of the new war
we made love, whispering like criminals
who would be executed at dawn.

We slept as spoons.
During the night it rained.

At first light I went out to see the world,
to see how it would look wearing war.
I walked the wetness of my street
and found the earthworms,
their brown bodies covering the blacktop,
all dead, awaiting the burial of the sun.



Ernie Wormwood is a member of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Her poems have appeared in yawp, Convergence, The Antietam Review, Raintiger, and in the anthologies Poetic Voices Without Borders and Only the Sea Keeps: Poetry of the Tsunami.  New work is forthcoming in The Cafe Review and Rhino. She lives in Leonardtown, Maryland.

Published in Volume 7, Number 2, Spring 2006.


Read more by this author:
Grace Cavalieri's Tribute to Roland Flint: The Memorial Issue