love poem melting in the swell of the moving shifting bits of I can’t hear anything but the wind running against my neck — moan gargle whisper enough without trembling dig into the cement sidewalk of this or that or open or closed or curbed curling kicking Oh but when I come, I will begin & end in a center nowhere I am an outskirt here in this dream-imagining we are everywhere I am never by myself in a tornado remembering and returning settling & you, the ground tugs closer beneath feet believing mistrusting, maybe, our mass body boulder so that time runs slowly across back shoulders hunched hard around the yielding warm of us gooey not yet ready I think of skin softening in the sunshine again & how everything jogs into stillness just in time
BY Stella Binion ILLUSTRATION Leslie Bena-
vides
DESIGN Ella Rosenblatt
& even if I’m saying something useful I’m not saying anything with a locked jaw cemented with I know until I —soothed hands & lick across back’s blade & a now belonging in the same place— know we will not fleet when buried somewhere pulsing molten a want for soupiness a choice so clear
a dream of August I remember how August got caught / hot & salt-soaked in the back of my throat / again I guzzle when I want to gulp the sun our most powerful body hidden behind a smudged sky / morning until dusk recently / still maybe the cement keeps the earth so cold here / how would we know? how come skin stays blue in a bath tub steaming / soaked soaping / shea-rubbed / still there must not be oxygen on my surfaces again my brown / loud-mouthed / father-born / all of a sudden hidden each day covered / woken / without sun each morning, sitting in the front room, I have woken up & painted in the sun on a palette I mix shades of daylight / the ones that I know the ones hidden behind bank buildings / man-made metal circuses / circuits florescent-soaked it’s a cloudy day here / again shaded grey / land-burdened / standing still minutes pass / still lethargic without sun I become unmoving / again wombed / I remember the red in the skin that I know hot / soaked in the solar / lodged between the tissue we keep / hidden my mother says that our mother is hidden that we’ve made her still / recently I’ve been dreaming of leaving my home / a suitcase soaked in all the down pour from here & a ticket west / I set out for sun move away from what I know I dream of August / red / sticky / again I’ve only known waiting / a mourning cold / until summer returns again valleys / sanded / in the southwest / or nearby / hidden I’ve only ever believed what I know a city / myself in movement / a day on a subway / so much hung above my head / no place to be still no one asks / where is the sun? I sit next to a window unopened / lying in a bath tub / soaping / relearning warm / soaked again / I am blue-soaked I know to / dry / bare my shoulders / prepare for sun I leave the front door unlocked / the key on the stoop unhidden / & even though I don’t look back / I throw one last prayer / into the sky / still
17
LITERARY
13 MARCH 2020
