Maureen Donatelli lives in Abbotsford, British Columbia where she received her BA in English from the University of the Fraser Valley (Honours) in 2001.
Maureen's poetry has appeared at vox poetica, OVS Magazine, Willows Wept Review, Yes, Poetry, Mused and is forthcoming in Stray Branch. Besides all things poetic, Maureen dabbles in photography and loves being with her family.
---------
Fog
Fog at sea is a thief who steals
the bones right out of things, veils distance,
turns the lap of waves into laughing ghosts,
empties land's rise and fall, a thief in gray cotton cold;
hold your hand before your face
and you wonder at its banishment, yet
the flow of blood courses, the stretch
of sinew under skin pulls and creases, releases
warmth into the brown wool glove not seen.
The cold metal rail you grasp is safety,
a line of language, that boundary lost to the eye,
the sea beyond pulling, stealing you blind.
It Gets In Anyway
All the lit within densities
of the body echo
in the heaviness of muscle
its marble chorded lengths
in cells remembering cells
remembering cells remembering
the divinity of organs beneath
their thin fatty slip, beneath the porous gown of skin
live those movements written on the pull
of bone, in the metallic
syrupy surge of blood
raucous laughter from the heart
the slick rolling survey
of candied globed eye. The tongue
cannot lay still on the rough
path of the throat; poetry
finds its way on those involuntary
convulsions of breath, swallowing
the whole wild delicious world down.