michaela sampas
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fear is what quickens me
at the end of the world, when I am all alone
I go for my hunger
a deep well, wringing out
in tiny drills, ten or so fingers
tearing the earth up
for salt
my pigeon tells me about the buffalo
how I used to sleep in her belly, so I could hear the rumble
the old rock braying as she runs
past, plain and plain
to the west, to water
on strong legs
so we could drink with both lips,
trying the sea for salt, licking each tip
of our fingers and feet
now swollen with rest
when I wake wrapped around her calf
like a bug to a beanstalk,
like a baby to a mother
I ask her
will you go with me ?
in the morning there is nothing
the pigeon - children call out for company
I can hear them out the window,
I can hear them from the tall tree
in the gray wind
they ask if they can go with me
on the last green hill in oakland, we know the garden
before the rock hits
recall it newborn and beet-ridden,
sour-grassed and soft-lit
will you sit at the site with me ?
this empty shell, cast out dishonorably
will you trace the old spiral, with teeth
will you try my shoulder for salt
and run into the west, to water
run fast between each coiled up pole
for your hunger stretched out over new legs,
for proof of the hole
these lichened stones
will they sag beneath your weight ?
when I let the moon down for you, for warmth
for record of your shadow here,
your bones bearing into the sand
will you lay now
will you look out wildly ?
at the end of the world, when I am all alone
I go for my hunger
a deep well, wringing out
in tiny drills, ten or so fingers
tearing the earth up
for salt
my pigeon tells me about the buffalo
how I used to sleep in her belly, so I could hear the rumble
the old rock braying as she runs
past, plain and plain
to the west, to water
on strong legs
so we could drink with both lips,
trying the sea for salt, licking each tip
of our fingers and feet
now swollen with rest
when I wake wrapped around her calf
like a bug to a beanstalk,
like a baby to a mother
I ask her
will you go with me ?
in the morning there is nothing
the pigeon - children call out for company
I can hear them out the window,
I can hear them from the tall tree
in the gray wind
they ask if they can go with me
on the last green hill in oakland, we know the garden
before the rock hits
recall it newborn and beet-ridden,
sour-grassed and soft-lit
will you sit at the site with me ?
this empty shell, cast out dishonorably
will you trace the old spiral, with teeth
will you try my shoulder for salt
and run into the west, to water
run fast between each coiled up pole
for your hunger stretched out over new legs,
for proof of the hole
these lichened stones
will they sag beneath your weight ?
when I let the moon down for you, for warmth
for record of your shadow here,
your bones bearing into the sand
will you lay now
will you look out wildly ?