Painted horse tied to the cherry tree

out front. // Pushed in place. // Views

from the kitchen table.

Hatchet in hand—

been there since birth // I guess.

Dad says it’s past use and yet

runs thumb over grain

under all this moonlight.

(a shameful hand-me-down)

Swing, brother, swing

and keep it dull.

Don't cut too deep now.

Better take it slow

or they'll catch on // those

spectators—plaster skin and eyes

like ours.

Watch that trunk.

Steady that arc.

Cleave its skin

and see it run like // rivers after

spring has come down the hillside.

Notice Horse and Tree:

Reared Up // Bent Down // Bleeding

Their weeping calls

to flies and mosquitoes—

and all the white folk come running.

Our native reaping,

cooked up right,

is cherry pie for breakfast

with Cool-Whip on the side.

A family recipe // passed down

like this for generations.

Savor it // before they take it back

and we call it thieving.

Those quiet breaths upon the pillow.

The gentle, rhythmic cadence of his lungs

Expanding and collapsing before me.

This is seeing God, outside of

Burning bushes and over-cooked toast.

This is tasting faith on his exhales—

Gone too soon to commit to memory,

Yet knowing that, at one point, I had tasted it,

Felt it real enough to offer up a hallelujah,

And when he goes in the morning,

Dressed in everything but my goodbye,

I’ll lose this ability to speak in tongues

Outside his arms and the unforgiving light

Because his Holy Spirit is a movement, not

A foundation upon which to build my church for him.

All the rings you placed inside me

Will one day be returned—except

The one your aunt gave you,

And no matter how hard the anxiety

And missing you brings my gut to heaving,

It will stay lost but its whereabouts

Vaguely known—which, I think, is worse.

An erasure poem. (Ports of the Sun by Eleanor Early, page 31.)

His lady is dark,

Tired of life—

A silhouette

Whose father

Is gentle

And tells stories about

The wandered.

An erasure poem. (Ports of the Sun by Eleanor Early, page 35.)

The graves // are a tangle of

Rust and tattered leaves.

There are a gay guests.

"Your Health."

"My Health."

Sounds something like

Possession.

They abandon the place.

The first to die // in horrible agony

Was too much for the rest,

And they // were rather worried.

"You see," he said, "we know what an invasion is like."

An erasure poem. (Ports of the Sun by Eleanor Early, page 33.)

I do not think much of // people.

When I liked some // people // my

Lonely heart fell into the hands of // men

Who were // brown as gingerbread.

They eat people—

Swallow // in a single gulp.

An erasure poem. (Ports of the Sun by Eleanor Early, page 23.)

A while after he embezzled

Several girls

He was thinking of

Her

Because

She talked of

Erotic love.

Weather me to honesty

And blow me back to sea—

To birth and home // and origins of self.

Midnight calls to yesteryear.

Forecasts made in quiet.

Have you considered turning inland?

I am the land and storm,

My soil sown with salt.

Bringing myself to realization—

A synonym for inhospitable.

I’ll take myself by wind // or quake // or silent dissipation,

Or desperation

Or dying.

They all feel just the same now.

Splay me out in retrospect. Here in the open jaw is the wild tongue that seems to move in accordance to tides. Here, the eyes that soon might look their last. Your thoughts are hidden behind another long-distance call and a wall of “I don’t know.” It was I who placed the pins, who drew your hand along the dotted lines—and how do I look now, with all my inner pretties turned over and exposed under your lamplight? Does the formaldehyde sting your nostrils, too?

I want to wash your bedroom walls

With all of my cologne,

And sew your heart

With the salt of my skin

To keep another love

From growing there.

We kissed on your bed

The night we met.

You noticed my open eyes,

Commanding that I keep

Them shut

As you made etchings

On my neck.

I said

I kept them open because

I liked to look at you.

The truth is less

Romantic—

I wanted to see

If you would keep yours open,

Too.