Thursday, October 18, 2012

what i have in common with her blood

When thorns stuck to the stockings
my leg became something else-- a cartoon
cactus, friendly
with its polka dots and purple
like a cactus who says
I won't hurt you   that's when I opened
the bag, found the star-- corners torn, left
as a reminder to the star
(who no longer looked like a star
but a creature   nameless at the bottom of the sea)

I plucked out each thorn at the gate whose lock   unlatched hung
open as an earring and saw her then-- the woman
who was not me, who would not let another pass and I sighed
at the sight of her and a rising was then taking place   wet lipped and breath
the rising taking its warm place   and warmth
rose to the tips of risen things and doors parted : the woman who was not me
stayed there, fingering blood on her arm-- the blood
bright as though it wanted to stay inside her and live

the blood is from the gate, from the teeth she said   I asked whose teeth
and then I was pounding (she did not know which teeth)
I was pounding my fist into my palm
because of what had happened to the star
when the woman said it's okay   she grabbed my fist
and said   I can still tell it's a star

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