New in April 2016
The Shady Sisters

 

New in 2014
Acts of Balance

 

New Historical Novel:
    Queens Never
    Make Bargains

 

Mary
    Wollstonecraft
    Series
Discussion
    Questions for
    Midnight Fires

 

Walking into the Wild
Broken Strings

 

Nancy's Backstory

 

Ruth Willmarth
    Series

 

Nancy's Books:
Fiction
Mad Season
Harvest of Bones
Poison Apples
Stolen Honey
Fire and Ice
Mad Cow     Nightmare
The above 5 novels in print, and now
e-books, Belgrave House.
The Losing

 

Nancy's Books for Children:
The Pea Soup
    Poisonings

Agatha Award 2006
Best Children's/YA Novel
Down the Strings
The Great Circus
    Train Robbery

Agatha Finalist

 

Nonfiction
Make Your Own
    Change
Vermonters at
    their Craft

 

Buy Books
Find an Agent
Links
How I Write
An Interview with
    Nancy
Another Interview
    with Nancy
Brief Bio For Busy Librarians (and other readers)
Contact Nancy

Nancy Means Wright

    THE PLANT

    I thought it a non-flowering plant,
    the kind you find at the dentist's under
    a plaque of receding gums: it has
    dusty oblong leaves and a woody, stripy
    stem—I've had it, oh, for years
    in my study, forget sometimes to water it
    yet it lives. But just last night
    the room gave off a scent so puissant,
    so lushly-sweet I thought it a dead mouse
    or my son smoking pot but no, it was

    the plant in blossom—a single shoot with
    six spiky pinkish-white blooms
    and globules of gummy juice between as if
    it would suck me up if I tried to pick it!
    By morning the scent was gone.
    I turned to my old keep.
    But then at dusk it filled the whole house
    as though I'd been plunged in
    a jungle jammed with Easter lilies. I
    stood there amazed. Was I dreaming? No,
    I could feel the pinch, I was inching up

    through boulders, sedge and bristle,
    skin thickening, hair sticky with rain—
    and the most incredible thing:
    my head suddenly split into milky buds
    like a dozen plaited snakes!
    I yawned in the dark like a cat unwinding
    out of its daytime nap, rubbing and rubbing
    and rubbing its bulk against the moon,
    embedding its smell in the clouds,
    in the clay—razing the night.

by Nancy Means Wright                   

 

Published in Comstock Review

 

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