March/April 2010 issue | See all poetryFrom the
Vagrant angel of convalescence, our sedulous
messmaking shames the cattails.
(Homemade hula skirts, you said,
& upside-downed them around my waist.
Downy hems, I said, & fluffed
the pods.) I stockpile my mind with purpling
knives of irises, rising like the cow pond
we wade into. Pondwater tenses
then releases our radiant skirts. I wing
my elbows for balance & you, your
wings, bidding the helloing bullfrogs
to plunk in. It sounds like endings
when the surface takes them.
Scummed knuckles & a stick,
I jostle duckweed & algae into a pea-green
orbit. A slimy cosmos, you say, pearling
my hair with frog eggs. To grace me, I say,
scanning the bank for something to cut.