The tree crew has come,restored a long-vanished view of the mountain.My eyes are again thirty-two. My life is still seventy-one. My life is startled. It lifts, as the many heads of a herd of horsesall at once do, hearing a sound. Heads raise, ears raise, to listen. How used it had grown to only the smallest of…
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…
It’s not safe to be a woman You come into a world of wantand to want yourself,you got to get in line behind all the other hungry mouthstheir names for youthe hooks of a bramble you go to water every daybecause everyone still needs to breathe You carry the water from eternityfrom ever sincefrom behind…
No one believes she suffers. But it seemsTo her to be her skeleton, the thingOn which the basic meat of everythingHangs, everything important anyway, from dreamsOf flying to the fear of ruin—selfTo blame, or target of another’s aim.No one remembers that she changed her name.She sets her lively brain up on a shelfInside a jar…
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.
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,…
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…
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