H

“The Fire

When a human is asked about a particular fire,
she comes close:
then it is too hot,
so she turns her face—

and that’s when the forest of her bearable life appears,
always on the other side of the fire. The fire
she’s been asked to tell the story of,
she has to turn from it, so the story you hear
is that of pines and twitching leaves
and how her body is like neither—

all the while there is a fire
at her back
which she feels in fine detail,
as if the flame were a dremel
and her back its etching glass.

You will not know all about the fire
simply because you asked.
When she speaks of the forest
this is what she is teaching you,

you who thought you were her master.”
― Katie Ford, Blood Lyrics: Poems

“Concerning Some Recent Criticism of His Work

—Glaze and shimmer,
luster and gleam;

can’t he think of anything
but all that sheen?

—No such thing,
the queen said,
as too many sequins.”
― Mark Doty, Sweet Machine

“When I was young, I hid under the porch with a star in my throat.
When I got a little older, my mother opened the cupboard to let the fire out.

...

I believe the stories got wet and began to bleed together.
I believe we built the sides of the town too high and the events kept rolling back.
I didn’t know that the water was going to keep rising as well,
but if you have any say in the matter, while the boats go down,
I’d like to be on a ladder,
peeking into a loft made narcotic with children,
a dead pool with rolling, living waves. If possible,
I’d like the water to douse the match that’s growing out of the bones of my hand.”
― Catie Rosemurgy

“(I know, lacquer
and tumble and glow,

burnished and fired

and hazed) it’s because
what else Lord

to wear? Every sequin’s
an act of praise.”
― Mark Doty, Sweet Machine