Carolina Ebeid

“[You Ask Me to Talk About the Interior]


You ask me to talk
about the interior

it was all roadside flowers & grasses
growing over the cities

was made of wilderness & sky
with God washed out of it

was the foreign prayer-word
it was a list of missing persons

was the solid bronze charging
bull on the famous street

was like the Roman method for making bees

was its taken-down carcass
& its bed of apple-branches & thyme

was a new anatomy a beaten hide
a skeleton sweetening to glowing fluids

& the bee born out & the grist of them born
glistening as coins

it was anthem
was the listening

the way a searchlight listens over a lake
it was the prayer-word out of your mouth

your thousand-noun request
it goes up up to the florescent weather

was hurdle & burn burning through
the infinite your overbright comet

was made of stones made of berries & plastic & boxtops & eggshells
it was like the word having reached the ear

& the words pollinated the dark there was darkness there
like the afterhours inside a library”
― Carolina Ebeid