 |
| Luigi Russolo, "Ritratto di Lina Zaquini" (1945) |
the ritual, the alcohol swab over
the top of the vial, alcohol
swab in the ever-growing
concentric circles on the side
of my stomach, air filling syringe and
exhale into the gel, inhaling
then its pollen and know
this is one certain act of love
i do for myself, for us, but
mostly for me. this chore,
to know i will have to treat myself
like this for the rest of my life, every week,
so let me take a seed, a pomegranate
pilgrimage to the small bump beneath
my skin, to love for a moment the space between
muscle and hypodermis,
the sun red drop mixed with oil on the surface
to make me more divine milliliter by
milliliter, to make an alt_r of this body
and make what’s left behind a relic.
pray with me, once-body. past face
old skin. form and former,
i would travel anywhere
with you, tell you any story
you’d like to hear, as long
as we’re out/here, wandering
this ever-wild sedge and cornhusk
pile below the low branches as
Saints of the Earth, the Holy Land
without possession, without
forgiveness without and within
and you know the rest
will come soon enough, the sleep
of tiny pink apples June dropping
from the tree to make room.
to save its strength. to make something
Mica Yarrow Woods. Columbia Poetry Review, no.32. Chicago: Columbia College, Spring 2019.
