Friday, March 1, 2013

(I am a prophetesse with my eyes open)

I am a prophetesse with my eyes open. I do not tell him who I am so I may continue to be a prophetesse. I wear a long flowing gown. Caesar quivers on hard gray stones. I open my lips to speak.

A brown swallow dashes from between my teeth. In one fist-grab he is feathers and bones.

My hair smells of coconut. My earrings hang from a navy blue placemat tacked into the wall. I choose my prepositions carefully.

Down down down we go under the water where the current drags and the chains run deep. The ship pulls hard against its sails. Brown boards and rotten planks, a knife clasped between my teeth as I hang from the bowsprit hauling at lines. How I wanted to be a seawoman.

I eat the grapefruit section by section, like my old lover taught me. All is diagrams and Latin names.

sunflowers burst from the darkness. water kneads my dimples like jelly. relax the backs of your thighs.

Yesterday I was a bowl full of water. we drank four quarts of liquid and still we got sick. still we managed to dig the trenches, diversions for floods and the safety of wolves.

arthritic fingers turn rust-red wheels in a begrudging neocortex. to write exactly what you are feeling!

I am a prophetesse with my eyes open. I open to the world in sleep. 

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