One of these days, we need to do a chapbook of Ray's poems. Until we get around to it, here's a sample of her work.
Held
Biscuit, my duckling. Lamb
whose wooly coat I comb.
My own. Nubbin,
button, seed of my leaving, you shine
pinkly, meant for my hand to cup.
Clean-licked foal, tadpole,
a push against my pull
and still
I try to spread my fingers wide
enough to let you go