snowfall

Heavy with intent snow flakes float down
to lose their featherselves into
a boundless, a soundless white. What gentleness
what heaviness
to press the chilly ground
cover the spikedead grass
fill the hills, the small hollows
Snow filling shallows, filling all the valleys
with tenderness
relentless
Snow falls
like a mother's hand,
kind
heavy
silences the land

Blue

i thought i left you
but you came running on behind
you witch, you fishhook, bitch
ten mile journey and i find,
i find
can't get you fishhook,
get you
unhooked from out my mind

fishhook was a woman, good god
she was fine
silver woman, silver
she was silver in my mind

fishhook was a woman, she was
less than flesh and bone,
witch
witch
fishhook, won't you
leave a poor girl alone

i said farewell fishhook, i'm leaving you behind
i had to turn and take a look
now you're burning like a pillar in my mind

fishhook on my pillow
fishhook by my side
i beat that witch with willow sticks (lord, i was weak!)
i beat that witch with willow sticks
til i like to died

i said farewell fishhook, leave
my poor mouth alone,
i said i'm leaving fishhook
poor girl,
i want my home
i said, i'm coming mama, and
on my own.

i thought i left you
but you came running on behind
you witch, you fishook, bitch
ten mile journey and i find

i find
can't get you fishhook, get you
unhooked from out my mind

fishhook was a woman
and good god she was fine
silver woman, silver
silver fishhook in my mind
lord, a girl stuck on a fishhook
you know she's got to die

A Story

Once there was a woman who could have no children. This woman knew a little of witchcraft; one day she closed her eyes, whispered a secret word her grandmother had taught her, and spit into her palm. When she opened her eyes she saw, sitting in her hand, a tiny pearly frog. The frog stared at her with pale, blank eyes. Then it slid out of her cupped hand and hopped across the floor, leaving behind it a slick trail that gleamed like moonlight. The woman chased after the frog, but it crept under the door and disappeared before she could catch it. The strings of slime gleamed like strange writing on the floor. The woman thought there were secrets in it, but she did not know how to read them.

The next day the woman closed her eyes, whispered the secret word twice more, and spit into her hand again. This time she clenched her stomach and spit out thick black chyme, sour-smelling and bitter. When she opened her eyes, it had become a tiny green snake with transparent wings. The snake's shining green scales were hooked and bit into the soft skin of her palm; its belly was hot and burned her hand. She shook her hand; the worm spread its soft wings and fluttered unsteadily to the window. It flew out. Her hand was red and hot, and spotted with tiny holes where red beads of blood welled up. There were, she thought, secrets behind the pattern; but she could not understand them.

On the third day the woman closed her eyes one more time. This time she said the secret word three times, very loud. When she spit into her hand she tasted the angry sharpness of blood. She spit out the blood into her palm, along with a tiny round hard thing like a stone. When she opened her eyes she saw that the round thing was her heart. It was black. She pressed her finger to it, gently, and it blinked a dark eye at her. She saw that her heart was like a tiny lizard curled in on itself. The lizard did not uncurl; it closed its dark eye again and curled up tighter and tighter, until it disappeared. She was left with dark blood smeared across her palm. She could feel blood cracking and peeling stickily from the corners of her mouth; and inside her chest she felt the blank spot where her heart had been.

Coffined

Coffined, I woke. Wide eyed and blind, I breathed. Earthsmell, dank and heavy; woodsmell, faint and sweet. Six safe walls left splinters, hooked little comfort stings into my fingers stroking. O my doorless home, my eyeless box. I called it peace, i dreamed only to lie blind, to breathe unseen. Was it through the nailholes you seeped in, sweet cinnamon?

Wood around me, earth above me: helpless i breathe you now, piercing the damp earth smell, the wet wood smell. My dark home frangible, assailed by clarion cinnamon. With fragrant lemon, heady rose, jubilant tangerine. When I open my eyes, what gateless, what abundant burgeoning?

boneflute

Holy holy holy, Lord--
My bones cry out, my hollow bones

Over my bones You are
a bitter wind
you make them ache with angry
sorrow, let me alone
let me mourn my own unholy

let me mourn with hollow
bones, let me cry i,
i am unholy

Upon my sorrowbones You are
a crushing torment
Sound and resound: that heavy
Holy Holy
storm, you splinter
my bones

cry out angry, cry out lonely
hollow, now all longing
You break my bones with longing,
now Lord

make me a bowl, fill me
with

holy
holy
holy

PROTEST SONG

Before your bulldoze-love I throw myself down.

With all my body I protest

that mecha monster, that devouring beast—

Relentless, you roll on. The agony--my bones crack

beneath your teeth;

my wants fracture, fold,

form unfamiliar shapes around your tongue.

How long, my god! how long this mauling

this reshaping?
I am breaking in the teeth

of jealous love. In your teeth

I splinter into outrage

giddy desire

gratitude, and

grief

FLASH FICTION

You can really learn a lot from the Internet. It was a lot simpler than I anticipated – the skin, making the face expressive, was the hardest part. I couldn’t resist adding half a cup size, although I did precisely recreate my crooked ear. After a week of tests I was satisfied the thing would run smoothly. Would handle the customer service calls according to protocol. Would never misfile records on purpose. Would handle loans with equanimity and speed, reducing human stories to series of numbers contained within beige folders, filed with a thousand folders just the same. I was sure it would notice the oppressive wall of grey and white winter unaffected. Would cook supper, eat one full helping of my husband’s favourite dishes, never obsess over getting fat. Already, I noticed, the thing always remembered to shower, trim its nails, apply antibiotic to minor wounds. It didn’t seem lonely; it never cried. It did the laundry as soon as the hamper filled.  The thing was perfect. I put on my oldest black tshirt and my heaviest shoes. I cut off my long hair and hid it at the bottom of the trashcan. I took six boxes of books and two notebooks and all the pens I could find. I took my keys off the hook while he was at school. I’m driving south now. Even though it’s March and freezing I have the windows down, wondering if I miss the feeling of my long hair blowing across my face. I’m probing at the edges of the strange feeling in my chest, worrying it like a new filling. I’m driving lightweight, not sure if I feel free or empty, waiting. I want another hole in my ear. I wonder if he minds that I’m gone. I eat too little, drink gallons of black coffee and diet soda. I’ve never been west, never seen the desert. I wonder if it’s happy. I’ve never seen the west coast. 

327 words