The day will come when someone will not be able to make the final entry.Beloved, beloved, beloved, the day’s ink will say—In every direction, thickets of least and magnitude sang.Apples sweetened. A hummingbird stood mid-air on its wings.Even the fires of hell, beloved: they could be felt.
Hold me, Earth, like a mother. Make your natureheal me, dirt, with an orange sweet potato. Slide my sorely inept red cells some ironbeans and berries, and feed my crooked fingers milk of grief, if they need it. Cry like rainstorms,sigh like gusts from the high, high distant mountains, shape your clouds as they wash…
From Sor Juana: A Canticle, a Soratorio across a gap of centuries how dare be field poet? & live in a nun’s cell? in charge of theorem under subordination that you come from far anthropomorphic, bride of Christ that you muse & make noise, study & be poet that you carry proverbial bundle, Sor Juana, of books on your back of what? of…
Juices swell in pears again.Fruits fallen all around us outlining our shapes.Athletic, young. Where the armory stoodbehind the school,a field that couldn’t be shared beheld from its edges. Hard and green.Then soft. Then shadowed. Coach made us lie on our backsto see this in our minds:ace after ace, closed in our faces. Distance means I can…
Here is my sad dad sat inside the smallestRoom, watching badder, sadder shows. He padsThe cold stone floor, he eats cold meat. All mustStay just as sad as him, or he gets mad.There goes my dad alarmingly aloneInto the snowstorm’s white-blown globe. I’ve leftHim home alone. He walks away in woeInto the blizzard’s bright gusts…
Am I in the lake where my bones are buried deep?Am I over the sunrise hill where my breath holds still?Behind your eyes, lids kept shut, is there a secret that you keep?Am I the one who’s been tricked? Am I the one whose life has been spilled? Do I lie within the wood slats…
In wolf-light, ivory gnaws through the rib cageof a white wind. I’d rather cross Saturn’s rusted rings, red-sandaled, a dryad with peacock throat and razor.When winter comes like a glossary of the drowned, you will find mestretched in mimicry, mocking the moon-wail as I bell my sorrow.We’ve always existed— artist, sorceress, priestess, witch, and whenwe…
The pigs are speaking to the childrenat the castle gates. The cows are enchantedby the harmonica. The petals of the flowersmake a tea to cure all ills. What about the sky? The sky is vanilla blueberry swirl with puffsof whipped cream, and the earth is darkchocolate veined with streaks of cherry red. In my bed,…
I’ve attended river baptisms in the Cahaba,church baptisms in Columbiana prop.I would’ve done a grand dunk myself, I think,had I trusted a single man to touch me.Only my first love I trusted and then onlybecause he found my body repulsive.It felt cruel, forcing him even to witness my arms.For a long time it comforted me…
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