the first hour & prometheus 

you say that
after the power goes out
the first hour
is the most fun

& i stood in the stairwell
while the ceiling flickered 

sun quivering--
her flesh swarmed by 
the cellophane wings of snowflakes

knees buckling in
the torsos of trees--

dropping limbs like rain--

your car snare-drum
smashed-- holographic 
on the shoulders of the road--

did you feel me blink
in & out of existence?

where was i when i
wasn't sitting
here with you?

where did the light
take herself?

packing her bags in the driveway--

leaving stray socks &
open dresser doors--

& i tell you that 

i am fascinated by praying--

that i don't know if 
i believe in it 

but that every time something goes
wrong i pray out of habit--

i don't think it's
something that is believed in

but rather just happens
no, i don't
mean just our fathers 
or hail marys

i mean nebulously--

a yearning skeleton--

tongue as a candle-- 
glimmering as i drop 
it down my throat--

the sink still wax dripping
in the kitchen--

have you ever misplaced your
tongue in a fit of desire?

as if wishing for
light could will it back
into or lamps--

as if there would ever be a god 
who would respond to 
the fears of a moth as 
small as me--

we talk about confessionals 
& priests like telephone operators

about our own baptisms
 
& the will of babies 

being dipped into water--

their souls instantly salvaged
in a dip of water--

& i remembered the cardinal 
making a sign of the cross
on my forehead in oil 

saying my patron saint's 
name wrong 

that's me the eleven-year-old  
telling him he was wrong--

Kateri Tekakwitha 

say her name right

& all the candles in
the church blew out at once--

at home afterwards 
i stained my
white robe with blood &
fermented baptism water--

ceiling lilting-- 

god's throat swallowing smoke--

the first hour 
is the most fun you say

when the power goes out

& we leave the house
behind like a deer carcass
on the side of the road--

i tell myself that
this is what i wanted--

this kind of humanity

this kind of chaos
without street lamps-- 

when god laughs at prometheus

our arrogance for 
thinking fire 
was un-revocable--

all the letters on
each page turn blurry &
becoming snow flake--

the blizzard has come
to infect us as well--

moving on from the sun
& shuddering-- six-legged
beneath our skins--

the first hour
we keep in the top
drawer in the kitchen--

somewhere my mother
is sewing a blanket
for before i go

away to college--

let me burn a candle 

i want to burn a candle 

i find myself alone
without desire for 
a tongue--

cut it out & use
it as kindling--

my bed room a kind of 
closed fist--

i strike a match 
& set out tea lights--

find myself praying--

not for light this
time but for a feeling 
i have no word for yet--

opening my mouth
hive of clear wings--

oh prometheus 
i understand

we are both such 
thieves