Juste une fable n° 42


dreamscapes (betrayals) n° 18



Mary Shaw


for sure, i am the vine, and there is

nothing easier than to cut me.

what is difficult is to keep my tendrils clinging to the source. the way of the world is separation. and i often want to take a knife, a sword, a scissor,

why not a razor?

and divide myself from the earth. the earth, the heavens, fire, and water will have no part of me, or so i say as for example i tear off an inch of yesterday's croissant, make myself two troughs of coffee, then flip the switch to see whether anything might happen to me from without.

for i've certainly done my best to shut down all growth from within. but fortunately, the earthworms

under the cover of night

have been crawling, ready to take me over once again as their meat. and there is no amount of chemicals i can take to hold them back. i am one with the rose that is well, because i am one

with the rose that is sick.

and today there will be once more either a joining or a separation. there is no such thing as stasis i am moving to or from, always toward or away

from the spark and gob of clay

that made me. i am alive and observing my days, i am double, ever yearning for your love and drinking at the fountain. don't leave me in the cold out of reach, where all is




Mary Shaw est professeure de littérature française des dix-neuvième et vingtième siècles à l'Université de Rutgers (New Jersey). Outre ses travaux universitaires, elle a publié deux livres pour enfants ainsi qu'un recueil de poésie intitulé Album Without Pictures (Halifax, N. S., Editions VVV, 2008).


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