your harvest fit in a sack may none of your apples be sweet may barbed wire tear off the snouts of your pigs may the mirror show the scarecrow’s face the moon shine on your wedding day may the milliner embroider your bonnet with nettles the blackberry fell your dog may your every joy grow a carbuncle may your eyes go to milk may the moth make its nest in your bedclothes the wind blow sickness in your ears may your husband leave you for a crone may his mother season your cooking from the grave may corncrakes gnaw your sour bones a shadow fall across your shadow the mice lay their eggs in the mouths of your children your children have the blacksmith’s eyes may tracks lead hunters to your door your fingers melt like candles may you succumb to god’s terrible kittens may the wolf carry off the heart of your heart and the swans swim thrice by your grief
Birthstone
Facedown in carpet,
arm pinned behind me.
Oh, opal. Oh, tourmaline.
Oh emerald of the cool, cool shade.
A jewel is buried in this
pile I will find it with
my teeth. Pearl from grit
wrought me. Do you know I
have hopscotch and dandelion,
weathervane, watering can.
I have a story, I am skipping
out into whiteblue checkered
yes that is an apron, edged
in rickrack, whipped
by wind into the shape of
my mother. The sun behind her.
Cut out of that light with
pinking shears, steps out
with face and whole hands,
entire: that old apron
wrapped twice around
my waist, kitchen soldier,
jade milk-glass mixing
bowl wire whisk and sifter,
the floured board, the dough’s
shagged fist—does it hurt, does it
bruise, would you hand
me a nasturtium,
its orange burnt bitter
carnelian, mouthful
oh where is that jewel
Heir
Tables heaped with meat
and fruit. Plates laden
with roasted juice and what lies
leaking it. He grabs a fist
of serviceberries and purples
his lips. At the last
she lay blue and bloated
as a frog’s upturned belly
in the moat. His reign
stoppered in her. All the sapphires
and gilt. All the chalices
ensanguined. He commands
snowbanks of ermine
to line the crypt. Guard hairs
glistering, ensiform. Murmur
of underfur. An avalanche
to keep them warm.
Groundhog day
i.
Fat joy splayed on its belly
eating everything green gives it.
Fur fluffed and cresting
like a crown.
We go around like this,
mowing up whatever we can
and in our own ways, drowning.
ii.
Who am I to say
this leaf is more delectable
or this flower, that spreads like a gown?
Let the groundhogs devour and burrow.
Let green sustain the mouths.
I can’t even control
my own starving.
Spine
Cantilevered in blind heat:
this lust in a field
of grasses taller than
a man. He told my body
something it would never
forget and I never
saw him again.
Weak in the knees
is more than just a phrase;
it’s a disease
and I still can’t stand up straight.
Lung
Flounder’s eyes lie
one side of its head.
Tarantula can shatter
falling centimeters.
Sweet jabuticaba swells
from trunk, not limb.
Like snow in June, this white
spot on your lung belongs
to no one, being wrong.
Dead things
i.
This
