while face-first
in all those blankets,
I found bees in the stuffing,
their stingers lost in the downy white.
they punctuated my bed
like freckles at the top
of pale thighs.
my heart was only
a birthmark, a way
to tell myself
apart from all those
rotten peaches
that attract
the bees.
if I told you
just how naked
the trees were,
I don’t think
you would have
believed me.
their cloaks hid
the icy surface
of the pond,
asked me to step out
onto nothing but
darkness.
if some of me
is home with you,
I’m one leg in
deep. deeper
as the ice cracks
and the lines spread
out and away,
like roads to a
stock-still heart.
after under such a cloud,
the only thing I could
coax into blossom
was a thistle.
somewhere between
faint and stagger,
I lost my balance.
I found my own inner lake
and drained it dry.
I opened up the window
and found only primary colors--
that blue vein,
the red of inner lung.
the world changed so quickly
when we were busy making angels.
wings and tendons
rest in our bed,
fill the corners of that room
with a music I thought
I’d never hear.
I reached out towards
the infinite and came back
with the tail of a comet.
it burned straight through
my hand and straight on
'till morning.
your tongue is a thorn
underfoot--something to find
when I roll over in sleep,
when I find myself with
everything detached.
my arms are full of lilacs
on the other side of the window.
my legs have crawled under
the bed and refuse to emerge.
I wake up with a headache.
there must be a storm
behind my eyelids.
I had a mouth full
of berries and they all
burst open when
my head hit the window.
the juice rolled down my chin
and settled in the crevice
of my collarbone.
I waited for the car to flip.
this wasn’t an accident,
but just a way to see the world
from the bottom of the ravine.
I imagined your face
and what it would look like
in this very moment,
which is the best part
of being a twin.
my own fear is there
staring straight back at me.
your cheek was sliced open
from your lips to your earlobe
like a gift. as if someone wondered
what could possibly rest behind
that thin blanket of skin. I put you
in a bathtub full of milk.
blood dripped, poppies bloomed
around your ankles and then
faded all to pink. I pulled the
drain. I couldn’t stand it.
you blew out a candle
and I mistook it for a ghost.
I watched your car
drive into that fog
like it was a thick
and smoky lung.
the day stuck to my skin
like a tick, like drips
of fresh honey.
I need you to be
here when I get back.
I need you to be
here when both of us
get back.
dear lover of the hereafter,
that’s as far as you can go
in this country
before your hat floats.
I know I’ve sealed up
the doors and windows
with the thickest ribbons,
but you’ve got to stop
running from everything
that scares you.
you’ve got to stop
finding yourself
standing in the kitchen
in the middle of the night,
not knowing how you got there,
searching the ground for a glass
that was never shattered.
a veritable tsunami of ribs, shoulder blades, and femurs...arranged in zigzags and swirls and even in the shapes of Latin words.
-Quigley, Christine, Skulls and Skeletons: Human Bone Collections and Accumulations
I dreamed about loose bones
lining the creases in the walls,
hanging from the chandeliers.
this passio is completely
fabulous. I sweat through
all these layers of sheets
as if I am breaking out
of an onion.
a bear with claws like
crescent moons smooths
a paw over my hair, around
the loose threads of my
nightgown. its eyes are
as gold as an arrow
flying straight from
the sun.
the bones glow, my bed
shakes with all this weight.
you are what is known as
the underside of a plum,
a tiny pocket of pink
from a grapefruit.
burst it open with
the weight of your tongue
and find a coal mine.
a diamond is a diamond
is a diamond.
wear black and blend in
with all of the feathers.
your eyes are apples
bruised on all sides.
I’ve been touched
and I’ve been touched
and the corn withers
and bends. golden hair
to golden ground.
I’ve been touched
and I’ve been touched
and the pond freezes
nearly solid. I step
forward. I crack though.
I’ve been touched
and I’ve been touched
and I make necklaces
of burning coal. red clouds
bloom on my collarbone.
I’ve been touched
and I’ve been touched
and the idea of us
drowned in the sun,
in the shade, in the morning.
take the appendix and
paint it with all the reds
of those high notes,
the blues behind
your eyes.
lean into it. draw a circle
and test the curves of
the lungs.
stretch them wide
open, find the trees
at their centers.
take a goldfish
and let it swim
in your chest.
see the light
beneath your ribs.
this is not a poem about mouths--or teeth
or the holes that bore their way into teeth
or about how the mouth is a hole that leads
inside.
it is about planting dry wood and waiting
for it to sprout, to take root, to circle down
to the center and find something like a
moon,
like a lilac as full as your belly, as violet
as veins on your thighs.
I had a dream about you
and the pines that have taken root
and the cups that rattle in the cupboards
and the sink that drips enough to make a bowl of punch
and the black cross that hums above the headboard of your bed
and the foot that grows cold after learning that you are, indeed, a woman king.
and the roses that fell out of your apron with the weight of the whole town in their petals.
I keep no company, store no
goldenrod in these seams, no
crinoline in my teeth, no
signs of wear on these hands.
There is no twist in the ivy
to mirror the veins in this skin.
I try to hold these devotions
of silence in the space under
my breasts. God tells me I am
a blessing of tears. He left me
all on fire.
our house burned from the
ground up. the neighbors
crowded to their windows
to watch. their greasy cheeks
left smudges on the glass.
if only they knew it was
only the leaves. the fruit cellar
full of oranges. the porch
covered in pumpkins. the trees
so red against the storm.
we were finally warm,
content with how we were
always biting our lips ‘till
they bled, ‘till they were
bright enough to burst
into flame.
the basement flooded,
like you said it would,
and the tricycle floated
up to the ceiling.
the pool balls bobbed
then sank, while the cue sticks
became the least efficient
kind of oars.
I put my toes in the water
from the top of the stairs,
watched photographs
of you swell and sail
around the tops of lamps.
I worried that I might
get electrocuted. I worried
that I should have been
saving something.
the forest was hostile
this evening--all teeth
and spit running down
the front of my dress.
like it cracked an egg
right down the front of me.
I washed my body and
where I dumped out the water,
a pine tree grew. the branches
shook with electricity.
your teeth are
a little short
of royal.
those purple velvet
gums look cheap.
there is a lantern under
your bed and the light
makes the sky
seem closer,
like it could lick my face
or the backs of my knees.
.jpg)
1.
open mouth slowly to show teeth.
come unhinged.
pull at the stitches in your hem.
2.
although tonight is a basket
of rotten moons, there are still
nails in the hay.
3.
skirts bloat and sink
in the water, billow and fall
in the open air.
4.
if I knew how to be
knee deep in water,
I’d have pockets full of wool.
5.
Jesus taught me to count angels
and to keep things neat
at home.
