Page 77 - Dark Matter Women Witnessing
P. 77
in the apple tree who calls
at dawn before lifting
from her tangled nest near the top.
Every day that moth alights
on each blooming weed.
Every spring that haunting cry
from the fruit tree.
Dryland Canticles
1.
This is the gown I dress in—
silk or coarse wool, lather
of soap root over earth-caked skin.
Belief is no business of the young,
who can pretend anything.
Unwind
the length of your head covering,
that drift of prayer,
that blanket of loomed body
knotted by storms.
Mustang clouds rear,
but when I hold the mirror of river up to the sky,
no rain falls.
