I met Ann Walters at Zoetrope. There will be more to come if I can persuade her to let me post them at the Den. Here's what Ann says of herself:
"I spent a great deal of my life tramping the deserts and mountains of the American West. Growing up in Idaho, every weekend was a ride on a dirt road, a dry fly cast onto a quick river, or a pilgrimage to a ghost town. I've panned for gold, skied a frozen lake, and fishtailed a pickup in the dust. As a professional archaeologist and physical anthropologist, I have an intimate knowledge of Arizona, from the Sonoran Desert to the mountains and rivers. I relish each chance to tend humanity's history—to savor and guard the puzzle-pieces of our past."
Ann is also a person who cannot stop writing. Having started after the birth of her second child, she is now aware that writing is as essential to her being as breathing and walking in the woods. In between breathing, walking, and raising her two beautiful daughters, Ann somehow manages to write both poetry and fiction. Her poems have been published in NOÖ Journal, Bonfire, Salome, and Edifice WRECKED.
Visit Ann's blog here: www.sharonfieldnotes.blogspot.com


Ann Walters

The maggots of death
have come and gone
this flesh farm
that was brother

Did they speak
white lies
through exanimate
like long black hair
shaking free from braids

lover’s tongue tracery - toes striking stone footpaths -
the proud pull of taut bowstrings - fingerprints in clay


Was that life
the dream
or this
this stick-figure
this sudden
lying quiet

this larval lie
erasing existence
leaving only
the bones
of my soul

Ann Walters©2005
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last update 23.03.2016