Page 98 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue2

Sheila Murray

Infiltration

I invite the river to pray itself inside me

into the flow of my bones

through the spiraled chambers of my perception

I want my bed lined with moss and stones tonight

my dreams drenched in the wet reflection of stars

so that when I rise in the morning

the river has re-­‐membered me

Before I dress myself for clock time

I press wet black feathers and sticky golden catkins

against my torso to encircle me

The slim ungulate pelvis rising from the mud

becomes my own

I move into the right angles of the workplace

with the grace of insistent leisure

my breathing an eddy of quiet revolution

As I tap the keyboard

tiny pinhead violets from the water’s edge

blossom under my wrists