4 Poems
Elegy for My Own Birth
Once I was shattered,
I was a mother. Once I was a mother,
I was stuck in the bed. Once I was stuck in the bed,
I was back in my childhood grocery store. Once I was back in my childhood grocery store,
I was trying to buy a candy with my two pennies. Once I was trying to buy a candy with my two
pennies,
I was a liar, a thief, a child in knots. Once I was a liar, a thief, a child in knots,
I chose to keep it twisted. Once I chose to keep it twisted,
other twisted bodies came closer to me. Once other twisted bodies came closer to me,
I started to find myself back in the
bed of the park. Once I started to find myself back in the
bed in the park,
I started to despair. Once I started to
despair, I stopped stomaching the losses. Once I
stopped stomaching the losses,
I became
bigger inside. Once I became
bigger inside,
I could see I was the moon. Once I could see I was
the moon,
I could escape from where anyone could touch me. Once
I could escape from where anyone could touch me,
my body shattered. Once I was shattered,
I was searching for the pieces and cut myself. Once I was a mother,
I was an endless seam waiting to be stitched.
Once I was the pieces, I was holding the
baby’s body and wondering
who held mine?
Who held mine.
Anti-Elegy for Eanger Irving Couse
“That body is a portal to the inhumanity.” — Claudia Rankine
“When Couse visited Taos, he found everything he wanted in the way of artistic inspiration. He
spent the rest of his life painting the Taos Indians.” — Robert R. White
The tarantula hawk wasp is the state
insect of New Mexico The tarantula hawk wasp
lays a single egg on the abdomen of a tarantula When the larva
hatches it digs into the tarantula
begins eating eating eating until it emerges,
adult The tarantula hawk wasp has few predators
The tarantula hawk wasp was chosen as the state’s
insect by schoolchildren The desire to understand
how a pollinator could also contain such appetite
for flesh
Eanger Irving Couse is buried in the state
of New Mexico Eanger Irving Couse
painted many subjects but mostly people he didn’t belong to When Couse
received the most accolades
was after painting the captive,
Eanger Irving Couse’s home and grave are
historical sites The desire to capture
the artist’s success as a site for
the state
Eanger Irving Couse is buried under a boulder The tarantula hawk
wasp
tunnels underneath
The tarantula hawk wasp lays a single
egg on the abdomen of Couse’s corpse The larva,
hatching, begins eating eating eating until it emerges,
full of rot and desire The tarantula hawk wasp pollinating
the phlox, the salvia, the yarrow in your front
yards and sidewalks, the school yards Eanger Irving Couse’s
inhalation of what was not his the life blood of the
tarantula hawk wasp
and now imagine if the wasp came to you
laid down its single egg at your stomach,
what would it eat
The Mystic Valley Pkwy (Route 16)
Unyielding is a word I think of at the rotary
which is where I’d be driving if I were
driving in hell, because no one is ever right. Always
it’s dusk.
Where I live is six blocks from the house of
a boy who I kissed once when I was 17
and no one knew where I was. Always it’s
my body. When I count up all the speeding
tickets I ever received it’s not too much
compared to all the other things I could
count and always
it’s a shot list.
I’m an envelope:
waxy orange paper,
I’m white circling lines, I’m the officer’s
hand, I’m merging. Always, I’m crump
ling. This isn’t a poem it’s a response to
Nabokov’s Despair, where both men end
up dying and always, I’m the mirror. If I was
in a book I’d be a rippling villain, hard to the touch,
meaning, the bullets that could come out, meaning
I’m a never ending circle, meaning, the start
and end are in my belly button. Meaning I
have a cut and it’s still numb, meaning,
I am still wondering, what happened to that boy
always, somedays
he will die. Always, I am
accidental.
perpetrators
I.
even the think pieces criticizing the surprise sound surprised. what should
our response to trauma be. the collective scale a drowning rock, a metal splinter in the palm,
all the men peacocks unfurling. the enclosure glass.
if I listed out what happened it would be hard to believe.
admit you always thought I / they / she made it up. at least, I’ve thought so once or
twice, myself. sometimes my dreams happen before and after the real thing. a psychologist
would and wouldn’t say that’s a reaction. there’s not an ending
and a beginning. I could find a news article from any year pronouncing the tragedy. it’s not
surprise it’s
a waste of time to talk about it anymore. I’ve wasted time laughing, I’ve wasted time breathing,
I could have been crying or sleeping or dead. I’ve been paring down my stake, I’ve been taking
up less space in the narrative.
white men must live longest, despite each test of their fate. what is fate if not his burden to be
alive. what is a burden if not what I carry from each man. where is my history book:
there were two times I wished my legs to go numb,
one year when I lost my hip. it’s still mostly gone.
II.
please sound surprised when I tell you even
though you knew it happened last night.
the collective scale of understanding light the way
a baby was light before being born: weightless but holding a lot of meaning. if I listed out what
happened I might not want to get pregnant.
weightless by being held by someone’s body. I
have never been weightless since birth.
I wouldn’t have let a man birth the baby. I said that it was true but I couldn’t feel my
legs. so there was two times I wished my legs to go numb, one year of missing my hip, one day
of losing it all below the belly button. three doctors to pull the baby out. what is counting
except an exercise in what’s been lost. I count up all the harm that men have done, think,
I have dug deep enough. I eat the dirt under the baby’s fingernails. I disgust myself. where was
I
when he was unfurling, I was climbing inside his throat. there were no headlines when it
happened, but if there were they wouldn’t have told you,
I’ve been inside him every since, I’ve been clawing at his insides
for many years, now.