Birth poem: feverland
I began: ecru feather
egg-shaped in the healers mouth
hung over me. His own cut cheek
dripping blood into mine
insisting this blessed chicken blood
that is his own blood
belongs to me. That its a miracle
in front of everyone else.
Their eyes upon me. Sunlight leaks
between my teeth. A little metallic
After this moment
the hills will be
unrecognizable. I think of Paradise Lost:
Raphael explaining birds
to the very first person. Imagine
explaining the beginning
of birds. Imagine your children
hearing your true name for the first timeThat exact
moment severest distance begins.
Recovery is like talking all your secrets in sleep.
Recovery is like razing your own teeth in sleep.
words inside you you know
cannot be true. Where did they come from? The calm
that follows, that fallsforgetting the true
names of things, forgetting how to call
the sun to prayer. The sun
has a cackle to it, a little
like the family barn on fire
you never noticed before. Gods own
throat clearing: fire-
ants suckling the borders of a wound.
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