Index by Author

The Gertrude Munzenmaier Prize, Spring 2019
Ed Gold
Touch Me Not
All day long,
you were my honey cups:
your fragrance weakened me;
my smooth meadow-beauty,
curling eight anthers toward me;
my little floating heart,
white bells on slender,
filiform stems.

All night,
you were my shadow witch,
pale orchid from the West Indies;
my blazing star,
delicious to moths;
my carolina moonseed,
named for the shape
of the stone in the shell.

So why this morning
were you prickly ash,
numbing my lips;
southern sheep-kill
the goats avoid like poison;
why are you sour grass,
your male and female flowers
on their separate stalks?

How all afternoon
did I become
stinking fleabane;
bastard toadflax
(nothing but a parasite);
bitter gallberry,
my fruit oozing
such black ink?

©2019 Ed Gold