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Poem for an Election Year The Politics of Bindweed Maxine Kumin november 1996 I have lived all season among the bindweed. I have spied upon their silent Anschluss, the bugles of their Xowers, the dark guy wires they put down into earth from which to Xing slim vines that burgeon into airy traps. At eye level I have seen them strangle aster, milkweed, buttercup; I have taken note of their seemingly random entanglement by tendril of the whole drowsy meadow. My own ankles have been tugged at and held fast by these fanatics. These barbarian cousins of morning glory mean to smother the clover, drive out the livestock, send scouts to inWltrate the next hayWeld, exploit the ties of family and class until they rule from hedgerow to hedgerow wherefore all season on my hands and knees I have ripped out roots, stems, ringlets and blossoms. I have pursued every innocent threadlike structure to its source, then plucked it. My chosen task is to reestablish the republic of grasses. Black on a Saturday Night Rita Dove june 1998 This is no place for lilac or somebody on a trip to themselves. Hips are an asset here, and color calculated to Xash lemon bronze cerise 220 part 11 parading poetry ...

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