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Daughters
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January 29, 2022
at night
carefully
with a barbed name
she fishes the pool
in daylight
she looks into the caverns
of mouths
and sees the same
hook glint
* * *
No, not to infants
but to purity.
Midwife: guides the turn,
holds a shoulder, one finger in the mouth
of this new-skinned thing, all lips;
stretches the length of it out to look,
hooks it on air,
and in one gesture,
lets it curl closed again and lie
on top of the cavity.
But that's not all: the closing world is full.
Not caring for flamboyance,
the midwife goes,
turns her back on the soliciting blooms,
refuses to grieve
for an abandoned cave.
* * *
She was a guest, briefly
in a land of no mirrors
where the waters
curved small to beads
and ran off
without reflection
rocking matter became light
the stone of herself: rendered
you she did not see but knew
because she stayed long enough
to meet the caller
host, becoming guest:
personable cipher
filled with doubt
again providing
a surface for reflection
on which she moved out
* * *
Unbraided, the long
fall flies away
as locks tossed over
his bluff.
Some sink
without shattering
their inner nature
like rocks in earth
or jelly-fish.
Keeping still
it is not necessary
to go. She comes
to herself, forgetting how.
* * *
It is morning to hold breath
as bent grass
holds dew.
Plodding about the lawn
her smallest daughter
stoops to pick up
crisp maple leaves.
Straightening,
she faces her,
arms open, hands full,
and then comes running.
Light-laughing. Bubbling.
By this afternoon
the sun will have dried
the dew
and the air
rising in her lungs
as she looks through it at her
incandescent daughter
carefully
with a barbed name
she fishes the pool
in daylight
she looks into the caverns
of mouths
and sees the same
hook glint
- The Wanderer, pg. 17
* * *
No, not to infants
but to purity.
Midwife: guides the turn,
holds a shoulder, one finger in the mouth
of this new-skinned thing, all lips;
stretches the length of it out to look,
hooks it on air,
and in one gesture,
lets it curl closed again and lie
on top of the cavity.
But that's not all: the closing world is full.
Not caring for flamboyance,
the midwife goes,
turns her back on the soliciting blooms,
refuses to grieve
for an abandoned cave.
- Midwife, pg. 25
* * *
She was a guest, briefly
in a land of no mirrors
where the waters
curved small to beads
and ran off
without reflection
rocking matter became light
the stone of herself: rendered
you she did not see but knew
because she stayed long enough
to meet the caller
host, becoming guest:
personable cipher
filled with doubt
again providing
a surface for reflection
on which she moved out
- She was a guest, briefly..., pg. 36
* * *
Unbraided, the long
fall flies away
as locks tossed over
his bluff.
Some sink
without shattering
their inner nature
like rocks in earth
or jelly-fish.
Keeping still
it is not necessary
to go. She comes
to herself, forgetting how.
- Falls, pg. 60
* * *
It is morning to hold breath
as bent grass
holds dew.
Plodding about the lawn
her smallest daughter
stoops to pick up
crisp maple leaves.
Straightening,
she faces her,
arms open, hands full,
and then comes running.
Light-laughing. Bubbling.
By this afternoon
the sun will have dried
the dew
and the air
rising in her lungs
as she looks through it at her
incandescent daughter
- Kindling, pg. 68
Displaying 1 of 1 review