If I have magic hands, let them heal.
If I have a rifle to ward off enemies,
give me the bullets. If I have a kiss that
cures, give me your body and I will press
my lips against every sore, burn, scrape.

If I have a voice, let me sing away this curse.
If I am pencil, let me draw your strength to each
leg so that you may walk to me. If I am of the Fae,
let me bring you to the forest where the trees
drip sap on your wounds and animals curl
around you in sleep.

If I am a chapel, I open my doors to you. If
I am a bed, I spread myself down. Lay me
beside you - I will suck salt out of
the wound. If I have hope, give me two
years from now. If I have a telescope, let me
find you anywhere. If we have a sail,
let the wind carry us down the river

toward the orange dawn, so thick our skin
glows with its aphrodesia.

02/05/2008

Posted on 02/05/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky