Thursday, February 16, 2012

I Have Sprouted Antenna

Dear Mary,

I hope this poem can portray my love and appreciation of you and your words more accurately than my prose. 
Forever an inspiration, forever in my thoughts, 
-Amanda Michelle Holt

Reading Mary Oliver

The den fills
With cricket-stutter,
They struggle with their own names
Over and over
as I begin.
I have swathed myself in Mom’s duvet,
Yellow as fern fronds

She wafts in without knocking,
muddies the tile with drought-dust,

I am naked now.

She does not stand over me,
But kneels--
I hear her humming
Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen,
As she lifts the rag,
Melts the makeup into tar creeks
On my cheeks.

“Let them stay.” She says.

I have sprouted antenna.
I touch everything with them,
Twine-tickle every part of myself.
I rub my new limbs together,
twitter the scherzo
from Mahler’s 6th

Before she leaves,
She kisses my breast,
Says, “This is what the branch feels
When it lets go
Of the last dangling leaf.”

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