My belly is an island My breasts a pair of dunes Rising above a sea of Blankets The landscape of my body Has been changed Not by your hands But because of them Forgive me I used to find beauty Only In an unbroken horizon
i. I see myself in the stumps and pits where trees used to grow in the absence of the white pine where I measured myself against the height of green branches that slowly overtook the front yard and cast shadows that frightened me as a girl I see myself in the cracks between the flagstones … Continue reading Elegy for a small town childhood
four thirty AM three doors down a crow finds its voice Trying out a lune this week. Posted on non-fic because, well, it's true.
Under a tangled arch of willow, ivy, and rose, she presses me back, back, against the rich loam, back, her fingers sly, her smile arch, her lips tipped with rose. Ever since the moon rose she has loved me well: my back is a bow, a lover’s arch. I arch my neck, cursing the rose-tinged … Continue reading My fair one
You once told me, the moon is made of salt, that all the tears that ever were are kept hidden there, disguised as dust. You spoke matter-of-factly, your pale face made sanguine by the dying sun. With deft fingers you stole dew from the grass, bade me drink from your palm. Above us, fronds of … Continue reading The truth of honey and salt