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The Healing Species (Free verse) by Dovina
Searching for food In well-healed pockets, a hungry healer prowls. Sniffing for green, in new diseases, the monster seeks its friends. Farming germs to heal and to live, an intelligent species prevents the worst— extinction of food. Fighting disease like missionaries fight sin— is not in its genes.

Down the ladder: Lovers east of the Coombe

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Arithmetic Mean: 7.2
Weighted score: 5.2622466
Overall Rank: 3923
Posted: January 5, 2006 11:42 AM PST; Last modified: January 5, 2006 11:42 AM PST
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[9] patty t @ | 7-Jan-06/7:53 AM | Reply
love it
[10] http://mulberryfairy @ | 8-Jan-06/6:52 AM | Reply
intelligent, relevant, and well written
[8] zodiac @ | 8-Jan-06/8:15 PM | Reply

By Teresa Cader
(republished without permission, natch.)

In the crazy guest who saws off the chair legs,

In the wind hissing beneath the door sweep,
A tribe of mice squeezing through pocket doors,

In the pants pockets where the evidence remains,
Those filaments of wool in the moth-eaten rug,

In the masquerade of motion that sets off the alarm,
The alarm that arrives via airwaves at dinnertime,

In the worm that opens e-mail, eats the address book,
The virus propagating on the unsuspecting screen,

In the cell that missed a loop of timing and purpose,
The unpaid tax surfacing like a submarine,

In the bloody stool and saliva, the mucus and membrane,
Slits of sunlight discoloring blue curtains,

In the broken gutter where ice dams pry up the roof,
A crack in the skylight where mold sifts down,

In the contractor hammering windmills on shingles,
The carpenter bees burrowing barracks into the attic,

In the funneling, the grating, the sagging, the gravitating—
O icon of muck and filch; there is nothing you won't

Divide, opening trap doors we forget to close.
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