MARY KASIMOR

 

  floating

floating

white curtains

 while voices coming from small places
                                          an acorn
is born every 30 seconds
underneath my plate      
fungi                   chew off fingers         
my life makes the drama
and it is not your drama
but your head still ends
                         up on the platter
it’s still life
                        blood staining white curtains
in this mirror i am beautiful
wearing bird feathers in my hair
you and i exchange our pasts
folded back into the soil
rocks that are a week old
                                 touching this child
tree bones eat her
meat and gravy           alive
a bird of prey goes out   
the sun calculates another miracle
                                   two stars struck
and ignited atomic obedience
i torched them               internal explosion
in the woods                            
i killed my secrets         they never blazed

all this to remove my face

 you looked for a new place
where hard rocks dissolved early morning
plastic beads torn paper another language
from a can of mold
an old long minute forced open
left out in the rain as a wheelbarrow
i want to be a hole missing another illusion
in mirrors seeping out in the transparent pain
rolling out the dreams
and sad you are tissue
the pearly membrane below the bridge
transparent before i shattered
i was born from a rock and never finished
lost my eye merged an alien mineral
sound slaps itself birds fly out of our bodies
now there is a fish in the street
eyes looking inward
in hollowed mouths howl half from surgical
stitches for efficiency undone and reformed
struggles in the church of words
the small purse bleeds