ENDANGERED, BABY

you are always       sad berries i am always
wondering when i can see you       next?
troubling thought #1 i press my heart-shaped
button the question pops up      today i am
loving you like       muntjacs? google search
muntjac     pressing a load of    red keys
suggestion:  muntjac skull forest walk endangered   
baby wildlife trust headlights headlights
headlights stop sign troubling    thought what is
the colour    of their blood   google search blood     
colour suggestion: gathering my    sad berries
homemade jam   recipe suggestion stop     thinking
about you for five seconds stop   sign stop sign
stop sylvia plath    references sad girl    cliché
i am writing you    dead boy a poem   again

—

IN THE MOVIE OF OUR LIFE

for C.B.

i emerge from
turquoise       dripping
the scent of
yacht              and my
full lips           salty
and there’s my
dolphin
boyfriend! 

                 he tails me
out of water
big rifle           muscly fins
primed to shoot any gull
that flies         in my direction
he likes to carry me
vertically
up electrified fences
surrounding our malibu
beach house!

in the movie of our life
the sex is        so good
everything goes dark
when he        penetrates
me        [soft moan]
we [audibly kiss]
[a dolphin squeaks]

the sheets        rumpled
in the morning after
shot
from the window you can see
white sand
                        [waves crash]

—

GONE

Once the possibility
of our daughter
was nixed
I kept thinking
of her
as moondust
a shimmering
how she left
my body
as a milky
sadness
how she was
all I had
for hope
of being loved

—

I HAVE LOST HER

like loam or lichen
like how many more
miscarriage
poems
this only   skims
i have   lost her
i told him
it was a choice
this
small death
her small
non-body
this little
nobody
wrapped up
dragging
my womb
a swamp
sorry i am so
swamped
my little bog-
baby
nothing caught
in
my net

—

SHUT UP IN A CAVE

in medieval times
they believed
mother pelicans
would tear out
their own hearts
to feed their starving
young   my god
i wouldn’t even do that
for myself
there is something
unnameable
in starving
something you keep
shut up
in a cave
the thought of anything
dying
for my sake
my god  antigone
shut up
in a cave
the lack of
a brother
beating at her chest
till she bled
a useless
pelican  rebel
outcast woman
elizabeth
the first the virgin
queen
would die for
all her children
her country
this pious pelican
woman   every portrait
at her breast
a symbol
a loving
my god
when i was born
the woman
she bled me
they say i suffer
from [  ] the haemorrhage
she suffers
with being
my mother   it always
brings me back
to pelicans
to pelicans
to jesus christ my god
elizabeth the first
was barren i’m
barren
i’m barren
i’m
cold

—

LOVE THE CONTAINER FOR MY GRIEF

I don’t know what else to tell you                              I loved so much

my fingers bled from it        We tried prayer at first

but the blood kept coming                    Well first it was blood

then it became something more            We tried saltwater soaks

I wrapped my hands in tin foil                Nobody would give

the liquid a name               but it was dense   like grief

and it was mine        I get told art is therapy for liquid 

I go see a painting of some beast eating a human’s head 

I get told          it is Saturn Devouring His Son     I think about the thing

I bled                how it was not a wound         but I didn’t know  

what else to call it       The curator tells me         sand is therapy for liquid  

He presents me with a bucket       full of pink grain I dip my fingers in the pink

Slowly my liquid becomes a grit                 I get told this is somehow better

I carry the bucket with me                through the remainder of the Roman displays

A patron asks me     where the gladiators came from       I remember a funeral   

a graveside     dancing I fell down a hole          Everybody clapped  

I don’t know what else          to tell you My heart was a colosseum  

The lions roared when I waved                    It was hard for me