principium

On the way to my sister’s house

there was a fawn lying beside the highway,

its speckles bright like tiny moons spread

across its soft tan back.

When the impact occurred, it must have been incredible

for the little thing was twisted in half–in the exact middle

of the exact middle, you see?

It’s as if the semi or Dodge or Ford or Chevy

had taken apart its soul, reassembling it,

mocking nature with a cackle of heavy metal.

And the highway we were on, the fawn and I,

was not one that was well-traveled now that the sleek,

black expressway had been laid.

So, I imagine, after the hit, this young deer must have bled

in near silence, late evening’s violet darkness,

listening for the rustling its mother had been making

before she stopped, her heart behind her.

animal dreams

as her tears fell on my shoulder,

I saw the dog lying in the corner

of the dining room, his legs trembling

little whines like stifled apologies

leaving him, and I wondered

what animals dream of,

if he is running the way

I once did

Millenial Pink

Don’t pretend to fool yourself, you know what is important.

Peel off the excess like dead skin from a sunburn, scratch it away.

Let your neon sleep through the day (it looks better at night, anyway).

Shed your warm leatherette, whatever slick projection he’s got on you

this week; because you don’t need masculinity.

You dominate differently.

 

2

 

You are not salt in my cuts.

These wounds are much older than you.

1

This is black and white;

This is the Bible:

The bump in your nose is exquisite,

your eyelashes are the only shade I need.

 

Even now, when you have been long gone,

your hair is in my bed

my  soap

my   hand.

 

But I know it’s the end.

I have kept company with many endings;

I’ve memorized the sound of their voices.

what the animals do

I’ve been thinking of you; what the animals do

frightens me. Even in the heat of the season,

when reason has abandoned me for some shade

by the lake, I feel eyes through the trees–all eyes

on me, waiting.

You told me you are a patient man,

like most wolves. There are no corners or heights

unknown to you, even in the dark.

Even in the light, every angle of your face recalls

something missing from me.

 

Amy

Amy wants my earrings

wants to dangle in the light

suspended like baby’s breath

away from earthen cellar coldness

Daniel bound her in hessian scrim

to congeal her luminosity

as if she did not deserve her late August blooms

as the rest of the garden did

And there were handshakes, quartz crystals

exchanged for her absence

but I see desire,

it seeps out of her slack jaw

when I go down for peach preserves

in my emerald party dress

Amy, the favorite

Amy, the temptress

 

 

How Death

I crossed the road often
I had seen what could happen
to turtles, quails, serpents
so when twin suns approached
in the moist darkness of August
I knew there would be blood
and the blow sent vibrations
through every fiber of every tree
the black land, blue jay footsteps
and while two men argued over me
my breathing softer than it had ever been
I knew how death comes: sudden
like northern winds

tiger’s bride

I went looking for the moon and I found you,

a tiger’s bride holding her shotgun ready, steady,

pretty in your damage stripes.

You said you met him on the asphalt, could smell

his cologne and leather from the tree-tops.

And when she straightened his tie, as the helicopter

ascended, you aimed, you did not miss.

You are no patriarch’s mistress.

When God was Born

When God was born, I was there.

I saw her as she slipped quicksilver

from Sophia– her hair standing tall

like fire.

 

When God was born, the midwife

said: “Look, she has extra digits.”

Behind her thumbs, new thumbs had sprung

to hold fast her mother’s wisdom.

 

Then I saw her grown, woman.

God a bride in white,

God a crone in black,

God with thumbs bent back.

 

And her wrath was nestled

like new life

beneath my stomach.