She mouths a throaty sun:
rays and words stone my heart,
eyes lift from crags,
husky laughter sets in her hands
that have felt the soft inspiriting innards of broad beans,
the new territory of buying groceries for her family,
hands and echoes, river-cold drenches non-
existential shoulders.
Relative to universe, she has not moved.
Through the windows, the sky is cottage-cheese,
bible verses hook onto her thumb, lamp-green bag in her lap,
women still have laps these navel-gazing days
wombs joke with hipsters, full tummies
and sparkling belly chains
necklines plunge toward the soul,
she cups a starry glass of coke.

10/20/2006

Posted on 10/20/2006
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift