lace. we expect to be hunted by wolves. we tie our sleeping bags high in the trees so the black bears don't smell the stretched shadows we stuffed inside-- slap the mosquitoes from our wrists as if they are the hands of a watch. ladies drink arsenic to make their skin into milk and moon lips-- here we find ourselves hunted by a throat barbed with lace-- the wedding train of the jelly fish who pretends not to be circling closer-- the kind of waltz that drowns all approximation of beauty-- she claws at corset strings and you beg her to pull you in tighter tighter tighter-- we all live so delicate and deadly. no one remembers being hunted-- swallow whole a fist of ribbon-- shards of a pale stained glass window. put on your halo just to fall like the dinner plates where we served the moon-- she devours you slow the way you like it-- there is nothing more intimate than being made beautiful.
Uncategorized
02/19
i loved you like a crown of song birds. oh you ask what it was about you that prompted the swans to speak-- pour their tongues into your skin born new into feather-- i loved you like a crown of song birds-- circle me song-- you the girl who shed a body like a cough of dandy lions-- what could i know about the fickle heart of a Christian? i worship a swan. --tried bapatism by devouring you in a mouth of mist-- told you to make your voice as loud as the circle of bluebird throat--tune strangled in the neck of a sparrow-- remember me when you melt free in march-- pray to empty stone. A snake swallows another apple. you take off your feathers to make way for June. Chain yourself to the mouth of a dragon with me-- write me into poems if you find your hands again-- i'm saving a basket of your feathers so you might remember us-- i'll be on the other side of a thinning mist-- look through the circle of the crown-- i'll sewn you into the otherworld with the beaks of only the morning doves.
02/18
bless me body for i have sinned i first noticed my waste band when i was in third grade & the halo red line my jeans pressed around my stomach-- me saturn-body me neptune's faint hula-hoop & my teacher ask me why i kept running my hands over the circumference of my stomach-- an attempt to find the equator-- take a compass to figure out which way i could travel to become unravel the layers of my hips-- i a mirror was meant to be a confessional for us to enumerate our sins oh bless me body for i have sinned against you from the first time i painted targets on my eyes with olive eyeliner to my hips i packaged in the neon ribbon of a thong-- oh bless me body i have made you playground-- poured mulch for the little boys to stomp through-- these breasts of sand he used to build his castle-- i'm sorry for every time i said YES only because i believed my mouth was meant to eat apologies & saying NO is another kind of death-- measured my height in the tally marks on my wrist-- my hips turned into the twist of a bonsai tree-- cut me cut me cut me into the shape you want the sun to make me-- i'll strip from you in front of the mirror to make it show-- grow taller-- break the walls of the house-- burst head through the roof-- i've run these legs until they turn to bologna-- kielbasa kneeling on the floor of a gymnasium-- i promised myself i'd stop wearing flowers in my hair until i actually start letting myself grow hydrangea from my torso-- i don't want to be that tulip kind of body-- pursed together like a smile whose trying not to eat-- i want to take the whole side of the house with the unbridled blush of the larkspur-- the hyacinth-- the amethyst bulb shatter mirror of the soul-- take the trow & plant sunflowers in my freckles again-- eat snow peas from the damp grass of the farm-- oh forgive me body for trying to love you by selling you to boys with thick hands-- who i teach to eat me like scabs of monkey bread saying-- take me take me take me & build me into something to be fucked-- to be caramelized to be wrapped in the foil of your bed sheets-- forgive me body for making you breathe through measuring cups & the worn edges of the table spoon-- kiss like a half teaspoon of peanut butter body forgive me for the bowls of brownie batter i washed down the sink out the fear of the memory of licking the spoon-- oh bless me body for i have sinned it has been twenty minutes since i last checked my reflection in a mirror-- bulls-eyes painted black-- lips draped in uneaten red velvet cake.
02/17
my aunt's house is haunted by unsent birthday cards, rainbow chocolate cookies and the ghost of their sister my aunts believe in sending birthday cards to all the dead relatives-- set their pictures on the end tables to populate their house with black and white memory-- pull their hair in cotton balls from the medicine cabinet each morning-- and aunt Flo still writes to Frank even though his car horn stuck blaring-- broke his neck year ago through the windshield of a red Thunder bird-- my aunts sleep in the living room now-- the attic is too populated-- and the hearth of an air conditioner churns loud enough so they don't hear-- their sister Joan trying to play duck, duck, goose with them as they sleep-- some nights she's twelve again-- mary janes and white tights stained from kneeling in the front lawn-- the youngest girl skips beauty and moves on to radiance-- other nights she comes home with the plaid jacket of a boy-- hangs it over the bar and mixes her sisters Manhattans as they sleep-- plays with their perms and kisses their foreheads as if they were her mothers-- Joan died there in the living room sewn into a white bed with all her memories already bled into the walls the house-- and as she died she heard her nephews calling to the ghost of their mother from a Ouija board on the attic floor-- she sang Ave, ave, ave maria MARIA her sister Mary who counts everything in decades of the rosary-- wards off unwanted demons with charms of ring bologna and prayers cut in cubes of cheese-- each holy mystery is accounted for-- and aunt flo still worries the lightning storm will bring the roof crashing down and all the ghosts crowd the living room-- Joan puffing on a cigarette and Priscilla writing poetry in the squares of a crossword puzzle-- talking in the language of the Ouija board-- their nephews painting their names on the basement wall like hexes or prayers-- aunt mary sips coffee now and reads her fortune in the grinds at the bottom of her dead sister's mug-- they tell her to count the branches of the tree in the front lawn-- harvest the pears sunk into the grass to make a pie for the ghosts-- they're hungry-- they play the organ when the three tv channels don't serve them well enough-- Joan, Joan who should wear the fish necklace? mary asks Joan out of tradition not reverence and Joan is only six so she breaks a plate on the dining room plate and laughs in the pipes-- mary marks the morning with a stack of birthday cards for the ghosts to descend from the attic to collect-- leaves out a plate of rainbow chocolate chip cookies so the ghosts won't eat all the ice cream when they sleep-- i'm never going to die-- says aunt flo splits a cookie with her sister-- seals another letter to Frank written in the voice of a car horn-- Priscilla leaves poems in mary's coffee grounds-- kisses aunt flo goodnight and eats the last cookie off the glass serving plate--
02/16
the process of dying on the backs of our mothers we alone attempt to think our way out of morality-- there has to be an escape-- another ending that other creatures haven't thought yet-- they don't think enough-- you know? they waste their bodies on motion-- drink sun light with fat pink tongues-- what a waste it is to have a jaw calcium carbonate in your bones-- our escape from death will only take planning-- the calculation of the cycles of the moon who splashes her face clean in the bays of her bathroom sink-- we have made these bodies without all the fixtures that remind us of dying-- we gave up our finger nails in the hopes of never coming to wrinkle-- traded blood for the undulation of the waves-- salt water and breathing in sand and bone-- these bodies made a body-- groom our hair with the cartilage carcass of another shark-- we think sharks are the funniest of all the animals who neglect to listen to us-- thrash their way through more and more blood only to die as suddenly as their jaws delve into another body-- it is easy to consume and die that same-- there is no one but the parrot fish who dares to consume the coral-- push water vein-- ripe tide us all into eternity-- feel the ocean encompassing-- at night we hear the whispers of all the dead-- only the coral learned how to speak to ghosts-- we try to tell them it's time to rest but their bodies turn white and they swim deep deep and we can't sleep still possessed with memory of the teeth of an angler fish-- we hope to die in the day light-- the dark of an ocean is too wide to hold another death-- mistake us for a flower so death might forget what he was supposed to do with all these bodies-- our many many bodies-- each branching-- these thick and gnarled vein-- re-grow these skeletons on the bones of fathers-- oh to eat is to remember is to only forget again-- the coral-- she write down the memories of the ocean and talk their ghosts into submission-- it is only the coral who would ever know how to talk through the silence of a whale corpse as she's devoured by the mouths of the hag-fish-- oh! and there's still so much time to think-- so many ways to think-- my mother thought sometimes briefly about air-- i think of it too and then i remember the face of my father as i grew from his rib cage-- and i listen again to the flux of my blood.
02/15
the bees stay up with me; build faces in the nightlights and dissolve our blood into honey-- the first time i was stung by a bee we made a covenant-- i was seven & the stinger dug into the arch of my foot-- i told my mother i was going to die there-- felt the sweet caramelization of my veins-- the bees laughed my mother hummed & the colony came home with us-- the workers trained their mouths to pull honey from plastic daisies & larkspurs piled on my head as a crown-- mistook me for their queen-- built a hive into the ceiling of my bedroom-- no one else seemed to notice the bees or the statues they made of me out of honey grids-- when my mother turned out the light they started their game of faces-- distortion of the shadows off my nightlight-- the bees haunted my room with the scuffled beard of my dead grandfather-- articulated their bodies into the grotesque & skeletal-- i grew afraid of bees-- on the 3rd night of possession i asked them what they were doing & they told me they were being human-- making a body so that they could walk with me in day light-- how long they had wanted a body to hail-- to love-- to sting & die as martyrs for-- don't we all want a god i only wanted to walk barefoot as time has passed my blood gets thicker by a moon-- & no one still sees the bees whose hive murmurs in a calliope of throat & fan blades through the night-- i count the beats of their parchment wing & my legs grow lanky-- branch-black-- my eyes a kaleidoscope-- they dress me as their insectual goddess-- burn my wrists open like crème brûlée-- drink nectar from each open palm-- this body was always a hydrangea bush just like my mother-- i stay up with them through the night-- feed-- dissolve my blood-- this honey in boiled mugs of water-- hang the tea bags from my ear rings-- your chamomile-- christened queen of hibiscus-- stab my through the arch of my foot again-- i'll be your queen i'll be your queen-- your face blurred in a nightlight-- your honey & your blood we don't sleep-- we sing.
02/14
what wasn't meant to be written on a valentine and how i want to remember loving you. when i used to make valentines in grade school i made yours different-- i took time writing your name & i savored the vowels-- loved you like red jolly ranchers & chlorine skin-- kissed boxed dinosaur card before i slipped it into your box in the front of the classroom-- i've made it a tradition to leave words off valentines-- let's just leave it your name & mine on the torso of a dying birch tree in the park-- carve me with a butter knife into the back of a grilled ham & cheese sandwich-- i remember how you tasted-- strawberry & ice cream-- i remember the worms that watched us get married on the playground in first grade-- the back stoop of the soda shop that caught our bottles caps-- tell me again how we fell in love too fast-- tell me again how your lap is where i watch the fireworks in august when we all have given up on summer-- i love you like gold fish in tomato soup-- like the bananas you hid at the bottom of my Cherrios-- like a seat in a waiting room or the psychologist i never told you about-- i love you like the change of a bike gear like my legs buried in the sand-- would you love me if i came out again as a mermaid? i've never wrote about this on a valentine because i don't remember who it was anymore but i know someone had to have taught me how to play cat's cradle-- how to stack cards to make a castle in third grade when the ceiling was still tall-- this is stone slab we used to mark the grave of a dead chicken-- the rotted out tree trunk where we rested to eat granola bars-- this is feeling naked in front of you & for once being unafraid-- i'm not scared to write a valentine to anyone who doesn't want to love me anymore-- it would take will for me not to love you-- there's something i remember about you that makes me want to savor the time it takes me to write your name-- take a chocolate from the box & break again like a cordial cherry-- don't you give me a teddy-bear-- chocolate heart helium balloon valentine-- give me a picture of what you like to remember about me let's split another doughnut here-- rub the icing off my chin with your thumb -- kiss me in the dark body of the witch tree on top of the hill in the cemetery-- we'll elope under the leaves again-- hang upside down from the caterpillar tree buy candy with quarter-- you caught me a crayfish or was it a dragonfly? today i will remember you for what i think about when i write your name-- no one loves each other like the scrolling font of valentine's day card-- suffocated in cellophane-- we bite people in half like pieces of assorted chocolates-- remember how we tasted-- knees on a back porch-- straw stuck in a blue raspberry slushie.
02/13
boiling my angel hair and every girl's fear of the deep end of the swimming pool-- the voice of a steel pot taught me how to hold my breath when i was 3 years old-- face down in a bathtub i assimilated-- inhaling soap bubbles-- and bubbling-- he said he liked me Al dente-- my mother called me angel hair and dropped me to the bottom of the ocean-- i snapped my pig tails in half to fit the steel pot-- beat the sides with a wooden spoon-- the talking drum of the kitchen tile-- a message from the abyss-- break wine glasses on the white coral on the way down-- knee scab marinara-- my bloodied-nose was a bread stick-- my hair again the insides of a spaghetti squash-- tangled and bleached by the darkness-- oh but how the water shook me loose-- shook my loose-- turn my bones into hair into pasta-- i was born so scared of angel hair and slipping down the drain of the swimming pool-- awaken in the candle lights of angler fish-- angler fish eat angels with their tuning fork teeth-- i was swallowing myself in the deep salt water-- face peeled away by a hydrothermal vent-- there was nothing but my angel hair and bone becoming linguine-- what do boys find so attractive about angel hair? about long-hair girls? was it easy to pick me up in a fork-- twirled into submission-- submersion in the deep end of the pool where the chlorine turns into salt into breath from the earth's core-- i feared the deep end of the pool because i could see what was swimming beneath me-- another boy another fork-- another slab of butter to tossed me in-- pull the pot-lid over me so i can get comfy-- get loose with myself-- contort my own hair into a fist of pasta-- crawled out onto the kitchen floor-- a trail of primavera on tile-- my hair was caught in the coral so i had to eat it myself-- no my hair was always mine to eat-- weak body of an angel to resist the crank of a fork-- i bled like tomatoes under bare feet or basil-- i don't swim where i can't see the bottom-- snap my short angel hair in the morning to fit in a coffee mug-- ocean boil these girls into couscous-- escape down the drain-- each grain of my bone ground fine into sand-- the angler fish can't eat you when you're this small--
02/12
20 years i have neglected to ask my mother to sing 1. kumbayah banish the shadows off a night light-- this is the rocking chair with my name carved into the neck-- this is how i went to sleep when i was six-- my father's tongue was another bed time story book-mark but it was my mother who walked with us to sleep-- sing i said-- and my mother said she was never good at singing she said she was out of key but she still sang kumbayah in a voice that i can still hear in the throat of nightlight-- kumbayah my lord kumbayah kumbayah kumbayah 2. I dreamed again of my teeth falling out on the carpet-- sudden as sleet-- picked them to fill a plastic cup returned them to my mother-- ringing like wind chimes or maraca heads-- i woke her up to the sound of baby teeth spilling on her bed room floor-- slept beside her on the carpet as she hummed ave maria into the back of a closet-- dysphoric darkness of sleepy headlights paced out the windows-- slick hush of a tires in the rain-- 3. roll down the car window-- god is in the voice of the rushing air on the way to my grandmother's apartment-- we pray cigarette stain out of our skin-- 4. the puckered lips of a trumpet in a ska band to kiss us out of new jersey on a star-heavy night 5. dulaman dulaman we drove to ireland on the way back from school and my mother told us about where she had hidden our seal skin-- above her dresser with all her broaches-- the stone garden 6. years of kumbayah was enough to break the windows from the frames when i no longer knew what a song sounded like-- listened to the pipes in house crack and crack like the windshield of the blue station wagon-- 7. if my father was a nowhere man than my mother was an everywhere woman-- the stitch in a blue and green poncho-- the spotted slipper wet in the snow-- 8. the fishtail braid in the before fourth grade-- fate of the morning dove who forgot my mother's name tangled in an electric wire-- 9. the disk of the pope reading the rosary that somehow became a song i would never learn how to sing 10. i asked my mother to sing to me in her bare feet on our back porch in august when everything was alive again-- she sings kumbayah better than the knees of a fire-- and she has always held an open window like a hymnal kept church on a dash board 11. i don't always believe in god but i believe in my mother's seal skin she keeps in the closet and her garden of broaches-- even if the jewels are only glass-- 12. believe in corn field and charcoal-- and knitting needle to tie us back into a slumped coach in then living room-- 13. i believe in a nightlight shaped like saint mary 14. i believe a confessional can be a poem-- can be a rosary cd can be a chocolate chip scone-- 15. i don't ask my mother to sing enough-- i forget that she sings because her kind of song is what you hear when you think there's no one singing-- when the curtain become opera singers and the kitchen table in a punk rocker with mayonnaise in the hair-- 16. my mother's voice is tires hushing you in the rain-- 17. my mother's voice is wooden wind chime 18. blistered raspberry 19. rocking chair 20. the hymnal for a midnight and the only prayer that keeps coming back to me.
02/11
a prayer to holy arsenic-- poisoned pancakes, glue-trap matresses and other ways to exterminate the humans the trick is to get them early-- in the weak morning of winter when they are still baking themselves into the kitchen-- burn the night in sugar cookie crumbs and don't believe the smell of pine cones-- humans will take you house down shingle by shingle if you let them-- they overturn a winter and pray the mice away in arsenic-- my father contorted in the corner of the basement-- a knot of darkened skin and saliva thick with blood-- we asked if he had eaten from the dishes of the humans and all he could say was of course of course of course this is the mice's prayer to the white and baby powdered hands of arsenic-- make me a host of the poison and i'll tell them it's Jesus-- that's all the humans want anyway-- a savior-- a way to keep the mice from the warm cement of the basement-- our children know nothing of what it would be like to eat without fear-- we sleep with the image of our father coiled in the basement-- begging for enough water to wash the rat poison from his body-- come with me we'll harvest their gods-- collect poison to give back-- a fist full of poison to add to the pancake batter in the fridge-- the little ones did not sleep well and they asked what humans looked like when they died-- i had hoped they would look like my father did in the basement-- or all our tails caught frantic in the long beds of glue-- i wanted them to have to sleep like that too-- try to lift their head only to see the walls were turning into mice-- mice feet mice tails-- mail whiskers to bristle on the their faces-- it is true we should not poison the humans-- our mother said especially not after you father died like a shadow of blood in the corner-- instead, while the sun was still on dying batteries, we made them chairs of glue-- chairs and bed and sofa and tables and banisters-- a world of glue traps-- smashed the pancake mix against the kitchen floor like a firework-- next jam jars and the human's vessels for wine-- the floor a collage of our worship of poison-- we knew what god looked like even if the humans didn't-- the house woke up in paralysis-- in faces towards ceilings-- unmoved and watching-- trapped like our tails-- a scream bubbled in the throat of the sun-- what did the humans learn about the basement? i would assume they believe it was the arsenic and not the mice peeling our shadows off the basement wall where we had died-- mouths full of poison-- feel cut with raspberry jam and wine glass.
Robin Gow 