1. once i lived on pillars in a green house boarded by lilacs that rocked voices into weeds. i bled an owl’s blood shredding the grass until i rocked in a choir of worms. obscene with hands, i wooed the world with thumbs while yo-yos hummed. was it an unborn lacquer i peeled? the woods, tall as waves, sang in mixed tongues that loosened the scalp and my bones wrapped in white dust returned to echo in my thighs. i hear a pulse wandering somewhere on vague embankments. O are my hands breathing? I cannot smell the nerves. i saw the sun ripening green stones for fields. O have my eyes run down? i cannot taste my birth. 2. now as i move, mouth quivering with silks my skin runs soft with eyes. descending into my legs, i follow obscure birds purchasing orthopedic wings. the air is late this summer. i peel the spine and flood the earth with adolescence. O who will pump these breasts? I cannot waltz my tongue. under a soprano sky, a woman sings, lovely as chandeliers. |
from Under a Soprano Sky
Africa World Press, 1987