Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Posted by Maggie May Labels: poetry
i am cluttered like an American home,
from attic to garage, basement to cabinet.
my dogs bark like the neighbors dog
i spread my legs like most wives
still i believe i am a foreigner here.
novels line like white teeth in my mouth.
i am ravenous for the truth however morbid
joyful, mundane. this is not a saying-
these are not just quotes.
music fills my fingertips, i cannot pluck
a note. i am singing about everything,
i am dancing: of course this world's a stage.
at times there is a darkness, bleak. stagnant.
being told to tap dance on steel beams,
which hang from the towers of New York City.
being told to hang my neck like a white goose.
the crust of the Earth is far below,
in lava and springboarding chemical outbursts.
i hold my pelvis, hands shaped in a triangle
keeping the blood at boil.
there are four layered cakes.
layers of atmosphere repleted and regained.
orgasm, rest, orgasm, rest, orgasm, rest.
there are two hundred thread count sheets.
still unknown millions of species unqualified
subsets of niches, two hundred stitches
in the creamy white silk of underwear
nestled against the sweetly stuffed vagina.
there are a hundred ways to be mentally ill,
a hundred kind of grasses in North America.
the phone book keeps hundreds of different
people, all with the same name.
i am rooftop to slate floor a corruption of influences.
life burdens me greatly. i am blessed beyond reason.
the sun rises in the cotton of my daughter's hair,
it sets in the slanted dark eyes of another.
-maggie may ethridge