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Dead man’s fingers—
short and still
or waving spindles
brain coral,
mountain coral
ground small—they
would be pebbles
if they weren’t shards
hiding places
for trumpet
fish and crabs
live and dead coral
What is sand made of?
Who is to know
which is coral
and which
is bone
From the surface you
can see dark
patches where sea grass
and spirit hair grow
Copyright © 2017 by Rosamond S. King. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 24, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.
Body sigh
Body shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
ssssssssssssssss
follicles and epithelial cells
gastronomy and desire
sssssssssss
Body mine
Without or in the absence of
rest or repose on the divan I always
wanted with the women I’ve always wanted
Body
Mine!
Body blood
white and red
blood acid fluid wetness
mine
Me in the absence of without
external
alone, still
Touch, feel skin and under that —
No sun today
. Rain seems not
tears, but retribution
. All of us are victims
, none of us are pure
; none of us are safe
. Things are bad, and we
will not be comforted
. We’d rather re-watch
the tragedy, re-tell our
horrors, spew
about revenge
. We don’t want comfort
yet – we want vindication
, acknowledgement
, the nodding of heads saying
yes, this happened, and
it is horrible. No
comfort, not yet – we want
the mirror of our blood
and fear and agony on
Oops
!
Careful we have to be
: Opening the door
, Getting our wallets
, Playing in a park
, Switching lanes
, Sitting in our own home
, Standing in our own backyard
, Sleeping in our own bed
Can be fatal
. Oops
! Ask? There is no ask
. Try? There is no try
. There is only shoot
And strangle
. Oops
! Accidental slaughter
Is an epidemic
In the Abattoir
And on the Rez
.