ma belle fleur with swollen knuckles tangled hair your veins are small rivers flowing against grain poison granules in deep blue my lips and teeth learning to swim in them draw red to my tongue a soft rain our breasts look different in sunlight bright white against sand, your desert showered in touch I trace…Read more »
I haven’t seen perfect hands except wrapped around the hickory in the yard. I spread feed at the base and built a sanctuary; I knelt I prayed for perfect hands to hold my world with sacrificed flora before it could seed I built an altar at the base of our hickory miles from anything but…Read more »
You drag through plains heavy and slow and shrug at the earth centuries spent building the craters beneath your feet Do high winds swell in your chest can your igneous lips speak? thaw now and tell a tale gather time in your lungs and melt.
I miss the smell of cold when you’re young and it’s a fleeting thing not yet sunk into your bones not yet traced across your skin. Cold smelled like warmth like a patchwork quilt with an ancient current, a magic current. Smelled like hand-me-down t-shirts as nightgowns, and like one more chapter before bed. Cold…Read more »
We laugh with mouths like crows, gaping screeches into cold air. Oil slicks cutting through autumn like steel through water. Easier to laugh than to cry, a cadence of moans amplifying into shared sky. Beaks wide and split left to right so no one could ever tell the difference between smile and grimace. Six eyes…Read more »
The warm season incites a madness in warm bodies chins upturned toward sky, goading rain or something sweeter dry tongues flick arid air empty of everything but talk of the weather or how the earth can’t possibly be round the street – akin to sweat – waves as beings pass, cross thresholds to escape heat…Read more »
Have you ever met a woman like hickory? Slender hands touch the sun and she can’t think of earthly things. She can sway without lifting root bear the sky without shrugging standing somber among the felled she can stare – cold – browned autumn eyes fall, jarring the boldest men quaking the stillest earth.