Your Fragile Neck So Vulnerable
What’s
falling really?
You know
and unknow
revelations
and splendors.
Some leaps
end in a crevasse
helpful
with rungs.
As physics
plays out, She
feels your
twingy innards.
Doesn’t
mind
reciprocal
omissions.
Obfuscating
clouds
delay
sacred joinings
but there’s
safety in being
grounded.
The Holy is
blithe on
abandonment
as a lie.
Excited? Why
provokes a
shaken fist She
might not
even see.
Drink, Child
I asked for the
water. Reverend Mother
ladled liquid enough
I wished I'd brought
conditioner. Soft is
the message of the Lord.
Does Jesus Christ
love moms who
inhabit faith like a
body of trackmarks
inhabits a T-shirt
washed thin,
stretched on skin so
lean
a glance from Caesar
draws blood?
Come, you mighty
clouds,
mystery accumulated
by explanation.
To end sufferings,
women, mothers
drunk or gone
sexing or gone
we need, what do I
say here, we need
not go gentle just be
it.
From between their
legs, children fall
off a table, bags of
oranges
chocked with Vitamin
C
and dented.
Watch the magus
unpack her heart in
the heat of Arabian sun.
Spot the magus
lifting her hearts in
the heat of Arabian sun.
Oh fat-breasted goddess
fat-bellied goddess
born in Africa before
all birth,
three sacred rivers
flow from your throat
in blues sequenced to
heal.
“Drink, Child” was first published in Folly 2012 (be sure to check out the Performing Arts Posters and Matisse Prints collections in the same issue,) and included in
Sarah Sarai’s 2013 chapbook, I Feel Good, from Beard of Bees (No. 94, April 2013). For links to her fiction, poetry, and reviews, please visit her blog, My 3,000 Loving Arms (see link below).
-- Sarah Sarai
No comments:
Post a Comment