mammoth we were the last of the woolly mammoths tusks stolen from dead gods-- fur thick with the heat of pre-history-- i want to sleep with you-- heavy & frozen-- foot steps shaking earth-- & centuries later the ground will shake with what was the meandering of my body-- i want to make a carcass to be found-- when our children resurrect themselves in cave paintings i will know it is time to stop roaming-- the continent is as small as the face of a dime-- we know time & we know where this is going-- where the soil will yield towers & man will fuck the raw earth-- spear & bare foot-- stolen for art-- hands on cave walls-- whose history are we then? eaten in the fascination of soil soft skin-- it was i who felt the pyramids grow-- felt their stones hoisted in the hot desert-- felt the pharaohs gold-- the embalming fluid emptied into the sand-- we are not so different we white sand & red snow-- in my joints i felt the face of the sphinx surface in my wide soul-- i do not ask where the others are-- skeletons pounding the permafrost like drums-- i want to ask what will become of these skulls-- these vessels of snow centuries-- be gentle with us-- weight is not an indication of anger-- we were quiet here-- felt your birth & gathered in between cliffs to whisper our premonitions-- our death had always been known-- loved-- a kind of weather beyond the boundaries of dry & arid-- i dreamed myself as a gold king-- in the entrance of the cave when the ice came to sculpt me-- & in my head i could hear your songs-- the ones you used tp build fortresses & in my vertabrae i felt you finding me again-- a specimen of fear-- be gentle be gentle we knew you with your naked pink bodies-- crawling on all fours from the divide between the tigress in euphrates be gentle-- you children with fingers-- oh if you could wear my corpse what kinds of stories we could tell you & me on the floor of the cave-- tusks stolen from the dead gods-- tell me human what pyramids are you building? what bodies will you leave for the caves?
Uncategorized
the snow
all your ghosts are alive in the snow dead sparrow mother foot prints pressed in snow neon orange sled down the soccer field hill red bare skin: you lost your boot in the snow they catch on your lashes-- blink bright midnight-- you say they taste like a mouth made of snow burial was soft-- as with all snowmen from living room watching him sink in snow that was when we stopped loving each other when laying with you was an angel of snow do you remember tulips in your cheeks? in april it wasn't supposed to snow too heavy for rooftops-- blend into sky your pastel painter thumb--dipping in snow our father's sled with the metal runners garage rusted & eaten by the snow i know you're out there waltzing in the snow with the ghost of a flurry girl of snow
02/19
i don't want to share i could plant myself in garden rows like a good child dirt up to my ankles-- the sunflower mobile sky lullaby me in lilac & blue-- what will you do with all you toys? if you april then what am i? you clay pot? your wilting vase? & in the attic is the plastic castle of our dreams back open for children to doll-house play us-- draw bridge ready for selective arrivals-- the green carpet is moss or maybe emerald snow-- planting-- are you growing yet? are your roots cold in the february frost ground-- we-- the packets of seeds in the top drawer in the kitchen cabinets-- placed under your skin with your thumb-- pumpkin & tomato-- a knot of garden-- will you water me if the snow refuses to melt? will you climb up to the attic on all fours? the kingdom is plastic-- dungeon waiting-- is this where we'll become gourds? i want to take all my toys & bury them in the backyard so no one else can ever play with them-- on our knees-- fingernail dug trench-- the castle swelling wave-like & manic-- now the size of our parent's house-- you say that maybe we are kings & i laugh because the blood coming from my fingers is indigo drawbridge-up crumble earthworm sky-- we were to wait make ourselves into rows like good children & here i am plucking the eyes of beanie babies like seeds-- obsidian iris-- what children are we growing? brother, don't forget to peel off the walls of your bedroom we'll want to keep it all-- safe in the earth where everything is closer to the underworld-- realm of dangling roots-- the soil tastes like rotten apple & stem-- your army men will make great trees one day-- just wait just wait trust in the patch-- they're waking up to an empty attic-- it might fly off like a newspaper cap-- castle behind the garage-- we can plastic live here-- this is a phone call with out a voice-- we halo empty crowned kings-- we perfume-blooded we selfish children-- ripping ankles from the field-- aching artificial in the lawn whose toys are these? all mine all mine
02/18
i didn't know it was supposed to be this much time is made of snow i was caught in the fall last night-- cold wet on my ankles white summoning ghosts-- i said that i remember everything in the snow-- we're walking home from that party when you offered to carry me & i laughed & threw a snowball at your head loving you was brief & blanketed-- & we're there you & i-- children building a snowman in the front yard-- with the knowledge that school is already canceled-- the sky a hazy brownish tint-- we won't finish the snowman-- our boots will be too wet-- & i feel you kissing me-- you with the long brown hair in the driveway as feathers melt on our cheeks-- you tell me you love me & the snow melts in the road outside-- kamikaze pilots-- their engine smoke trailing into the cloudy sky-- i didn't know it was supposed to be this much i say to myself as another ghost of mine kneels on all fours-- she is an artic wolf-- flakes turning to dew on her back-- & the evergreen trees in the back yard get taller-- & there are reindeer hooves planting themselves on the roof you are there in my attic holding me by a wad of hair like yarn-- i'm knitted-- a pink obstacle for the snow to cover-- sleep walking in a street of ghosts-- you hold my hand again-- we're walking home from that party & you lost one mitten & i'm happy because i wanted to touch your fingers anyway-- outside my front door i see the little girl with three missing teeth-- she throws a snowball at us & you don't notice-- is it just me then who has come to live in such close proximity to ghosts? what time finds you when it snows? open mouth to the sky-- let's catch angels-- i drive home-- dangerous as the tires highway ice skate the city: one sleet dream & in the lights from the radio towers the snow fall makes phone calls home to our warm bodies on the porch-- eating handfuls of snow sledding up the staircase to our bedrooms where the world outside will ache to haunt us-- i am home now with the window blinds drawn-- there's too much out there-- i peak & see you waving from the driveway-- blow a kiss on the glass-- fog thriving phantom-like-- they canceled school tomorrow i tell her & she holds your hand-- green snow pants & blue knit hat-- i hear melting it's so loud i sleep in the body of the snowman she is still building
‘not guns’ ghazal
*TW transphobia, gun violence*
plastic spoon & milk carton kills them, not guns their hearts murderous with seat belts, not guns shoelace-knotted weirdos-- hopscotch lovers these are the mental-ill culprits, not guns innocence: a barrel mouth--shrapnel kiss jump rope nooses, death by recess, not guns bathrooms-stall hiding secret genitals violent with gender pairing knives, not guns surely your body can travel bullet-fast you believed in a sunday god, not guns blood loss & open wounds kills them, not guns enough to rain--the rain kills them, not guns
a boy ghazal
Popped off my knees like bottle caps & became a boy
Daddy crushed diet coke cans & i became a boy
hands goldfished in the creek—colorful pebble feet
Don’t feed her too much or she’ll grow into a boy
Flag pulled down from its perch—waved laughing upside down
The monkey bars at the park know she will be a boy
Reflected in rain-windows—chest wrapped in white gauze—
I scissor cut mountains—pressed my lips to a boy
Catch tadpoles & swallow them wriggling & whole—
Amphibian mother—gills are a silly thing for a boy
The first man was sliced down the middle— half & half
So you’re wondering which half of you is a boy?
I wrote my name first in the fogged window, a boy
a soul planted in pumpkin seeds, harvest the boy
02/17
i shipwreck lights bleary in the night ocean out one by one-- a city in tilt-- mast snapping mossy twig under foot we ran away like girls highway healing each other-- bought the house with the stilts-- ate hot peaches in august-- & this body had life boats but we sold them for clip-on earrings & black boots this is the house we bought that fell into the ocean-- knees buckling as i felt myself un-loving you-- each kiss a kind of apology-- a rejection of the possibility of submersion-- i shipwreck-- drop potted african violet from the windowsill-- mother with the jars of basil & thyme-- a pocket watch assimilated into the salt water-- slow down-- our arms gold & hushed as the gears drink-- deeper past a german submarine that my grandfather will try & obliterate with bombs-- the soul of a whale rising past-- carcass already a cathedral at the very very bottom where the animals are moon-light & the sun is a fearful legend-- you're not coming with-- & when the scuba drivers come looking they will find nothing of value-- wood & metal stomach blooming open-- they will bring flash lights-- find my legs broken backwards from trying to run fast enough to walk on water-- i imagine maybe you read the newspaper & hear about a shipwreck in the headlines-- imagining a treasure chest diamond & sapphire-- i buried that all in the front yard-- in your palms when you weren't looking-- you sometimes till wonder why you feel heavier than before you met me-- what will you tell them happen to your wife? the one with so many dresses still waiting in your closet like hot air balloons-- the one who baked lemon bars on sundays & went to church but only for you-- she was trying to dig the holy from inside of herself but she only found gem stones-- that's me of course-- cutting my hair on the dock-- rib cage housing crustaceans-- eyes shut-- pretending to be asleep-- i shipwreck & the scientists say i have several more years left before salt & ocean drift evaporate the hull-- before then will you visit-- will you tell me if you remember the smell of our attic? the jars of basil & time-- the still pocket watch-- mouth open-- we have the souls of whales
hangman
Let’s play hangman
drawn into the noose—
the letter ‘e’ did him in—we needed a vowel—
& the lady in front of us in line at the Goodwill said
did you hear there was another shooting
in Florida—a high school—49—oh no not 49 dead just shot—
another
the vowel you were looking for is ‘o’
‘o’ the shape a mouth makes when blowing
bubbles on the porch in april when we take
off our sweaters—leave them on the back of desk chairs—
9 dead—yes 9 dead now
& there is a letter to be guessed
& the letter is likely one of 26—some more weighty than others—
& the letter is so heavy that it hangs—
i’m thinking about that time in middle school when
we waited in the grass by the church—
where we sat excited by the threat of a bomb
& you were briefly in love with someone
whose hands was sweaty—
‘o’ like a bomb—like the doorknob to the church—
another
it was all so absurd—we passed fear &
moved on to laughter
we laughed—
mouths shaped like ‘o’
‘o’ the barrel of a gun—
the tongue in the lockdown drill—
be quiet—that’s the shadow—
guess a letter guess a letter
another
i want to buy my damn clothing
& get out of there—
& the prayers become ghosts—prying
themselves from the camera of my iphone—
hashtags in their jaws—
there was another shooting
& the barrel of the gun
guesses the letter ‘o’
finally—
with our arms dangling legless—
let’s play again
let’s play again
start with the vowlers—
it will be april then & there will
be less mouths to fill with bubbles
& the sweater didn’t stop the bullet—
why didn’t you guess?
another
another
the scaffolds draw a crowd—
we sit in the grass by the church—
02/16
other ways home my GPS took me a different way home-- & by that i mean google maps was picking out a new place for me-- after all these stoplights i would arrive somewhere-- somewhere un-nameable-- a green doormat & a porch complete with wind chimes-- the low & empty bamboo type that sound more like bones than bluebird fingers-- the neon laughter of storefronts found me-- windows rolled down-- rain staining me purple-- or was i red in under the inevitable blaze of stoplight after stoplight after stoplight-- i prayed dear god, if i don't reach the highway soon i will die with all this speed limit in my fingers-- going to a different home-- maybe three states over in a town where i will become a mailman or maybe a school teacher-- your voice is a phone call ringing-- telling me how at the end of the day you pulled the sheet up over your head & cried oh how i wish the sky followed me like it does you-- maybe it's taking me to nebraska near where you want to go to become a franciscan-- i always picture you making eggs early in the morning on a gas stove top-- long brown robe-- i wanted to tell you about my car windows fogging up-- about how i pressed my hand in the glass & imagined this was a submarine & the coral reef hummed only as a handful of OPEN signs & the red glow of cigarette butts sizzling in the mist-- is this my home now? with a wreath made of tin-cans & doorknobs made of bottle caps-- gravel driveway & flood waters rising up the street-- i don't tell you that i'm lost-- or rather i don't tell you that my GPS is holding my hand & whispering speaking in left turns & door frames-- building me a house from the celestial material of this lost august storm-- pouring planets-- jupiters & neptunes-- solid as marbles ricocheting off the hood of my green volvo i get out of the car while it's moving & there's the house where we grew up only it's slimmer & sits on a different main street in a small town so much like our own with neon ghosts up past their bed times-- are you coming to visit me? will you love me when i lose all sense of addresses? an episodic sibling-- a hand pressed in the fog of you car window-- hollow bamboo femurs-- don't tell anyone else where i've gone-- trust the GPS angels & trust the god of neon & fried eggs
02/15
it's past your bed time & every house in the world is lit only by the dim glow inside the door of the fridge-- how mischievous of us let's go driving without headlights-- dark down through the corn fields where the roads lose each other-- play tag with their own corners-- pass the little brick school house waiting patiently to be rung like a bell-- do you hear the wind chimes becoming material-- the sound of a star brushing up against it's sibling-- do your constellations ever touch? i'll steal mother's yarn from the basket at the kitchen table-- we'll make necklaces-- the wooden bead planets-- the pendant moon-- around your neck-- it's past your bedtime so anything can happen-- for all god knows you are laying-- cheek pressed to pillow-- did you tuck your body in before you left? like a stone dropped from the window crack your geodes like eggs-- crystals in the cast iron pan & town is awake only in the alley ways stretching longer & longer-- you may never emerge-- you may wake up a shadow this was your fault because it is of course past your bed time-- what will the angels do with the dreams you were supposed to make? they're disappointed in us & our rascal bodies-- i like to be disobedient-- make knots in the necks of street lights-- peel up the double yellow lines of main street-- woven together to play cats cradle-- brother this is how to make the eiffel tower & the witch's broom-- a hammock in your hands to sleep in-- but no we're not sleep yet-- we have to stay awake i don't want to forget you & all your corn husk hair-- your angular turns-- this gravel road is full of crystals they taste like rock candy-- sweetness of stars for breakfast-- promise me you'll come back to the alley when it's done stretching-- meet me there & spray paint your name on the dumpster-- black paint-- this is so you won't forget what i called you when you find your bedtime-- when you wake up & the sun is warm on your face-- planting freckles-- the angels-- displeased-- are coming back to clean up our messes with soapy dish rags & their white robes-- they take up each by the hand-- walking us back up noble street to our house where the mailbox is open-- climb inside-- i'll come back for you in the morning after i read your name you-- a letter i could kiss-- lips envelope sealed-- our bedtimes long overdue
Robin Gow 