“How not to imagine the tumors ripening beneath his skin, flesh I have kissed, stroked with my fingertips, pressed my belly and breasts against, some nights so hard I thought I could enter him, open his back at the spine like a door or a curtain and slip in like a small fish between his ribs, nudge the coral of his brains with my lips, brushing over the blue coil of his bowels with the fluted silk of my tail.” HardNightBrainImagineDoorsSkinsBlueLipsFishesFleshBreastsSlipsTailsBellyCurtainsSpineSilkRibsFingertipsNudgeBrushingTumorsBowelsRipeningSmall Fish Author:Dorianne Laux
“Someone spoke to me last night, told me the truth. Just a few words, but I recognized it. I knew I should make myself get up, write it down, but it was late, and I was exhausted from working all day in the garden, moving rocks.” ShouldWritingLastsMovingNightRocksLateGardenGet UpSpokesExhaustedLast NightFew Words Book:What we carry: poems Source: What we carry: poems
“Someone spoke to me last night,/ told me the truth. Just a few words,. but I recognized it./ I knew I should make myself get up,/ Write it down, but it was late,/ and I was exhausted from working/ all day in the garden, moving rocks./ Now, I remember only the flavor--/ not like food, sweet or sharp./ More like a fine powder, like dust./ And I wasn't elated or frightened,/ but simply rapt, aware./ That's how it is sometimes--/ God comes to your window,/ all bright light and black wings,/ and you're just too tired to open it.” ShouldWritingSometimesLightLastsRememberMovingNightBlackRocksSweetFineLateGardenWindowTiredWingsGet UpDustSpokesFrightenedExhaustedFlavorLast NightPowderFew WordsBright Lights Book:What we carry: poems Source: What we carry: poems
