Marie Howe, the Poet
Marie Howe is always chewing on her lips,
the top one full as though plumped
with snuff.
She chews on them highlighting
their sensuality as though she can’t
quite let them go, they’re too delicious.
Her wild hair falls round her shoulders
like a waterfall. She pushes it away
from her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her poems, poignant as a heart beat,
root out the marrow of any bone.
6 thoughts on "Marie Howe, the Poet"
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those last lines make me want to read her poems, the description of her make me want to see her picture
Do yourself a favor and explore her work. She’s one of the finest in my opinion. You can see her interviewed on YouTube I’ve done workshops with her. Just the best.
Her poems, poignant as a heart beat,
root out the marrow of any bone.
Strong ending.
I love Marie Howe and I love seeing her show up in a poem. She’s so empathetic, real & unique. I love the next to the last verse.
Thanks for putting Marie in the spotlight, Pat!
Everyone should read Marie Howe