Close geography
Becomes sticky-
Eloquence is frilly
In the face of day.
Martina is home,
She is a queen wrecked
And rebuilt into a warrior.
Her hands are practically used
collecting ocean and wind,
she wades and waits
With the persistence of tide.
Marcia is on magazine street
Robust, ready, such freedom now
In her measured movement. She is
North ramified, she is a core.
Blau flutters, is a leaf on a bare tree
You can’t help but stare at, the thin thread
Of its survival in the resolute winter. She creates,
She has become whole. I watch.
Alan always,
Alan always,
in all ways, Alan.
He is with me in
the wide woods,
one long afternoon
in the pocket between worlds.
Alyssa is a midwife in all things
Praising and mending old skin
To still stretch. She leaves knives
under my bed to cut the pain.
Matt is on west 5th
His roof deck is a ship,
A suspension from earth, the last look
At the beginning of one last trip.
Jacqui I imagine in the back T.V room
of the house on Woodland road,
It's funny,
to think of us as real women.
to think of us as real women.
I would like the part about me to be engraved on my tombstone. is there anything more persistent than natural phenomena - sunsets, tides, weeds growing through cement - I will keep picturing that in the days ahead. I am a weed. i am a weed.
ReplyDelete