What was innocuous became ill the thrill of blue expiring the clouds interlacing
ghostly shrouding crowns a hoot reserves its sound.
She is not at home today not at home today not at home.
Mama shucks nuts a rock with each quick shuck.
She could grow old her body colder difficult to hold
each nut so still to be an older Mama.
*
She must watch her back.
The two trod gleefully beside.
Her pride loosens right there in the middle
mid-way levitating a stalking mind. Perceptions
the heavy din of flies.
They think her scary amorphous and large
unsure of what species to assign. No not a tiger, not a bison.
They climb trees and reprieve bad ideas.
Perhaps they should shoot her or fuck her
perhaps throw down a viscous pot of honey.
But that’s just tree talk trees being trees.
*
Swaying what makes a walk, walk.
The two pawing onwards limbs bracing. Mama walks.
To know in excess blackness heats her brain.
Watching much different than looking
Different from acknowledging.
The watch a smack on her back.
*
She is a big brown casualty loping the slopes are high forecast says, wondering whose projection this is the record shuts itself a cloud wipes away.
*
As if positioned there is only one way that thinking coheres.
A small bat flutters upside down an intellectualism separate
from world-activity.
Her hours occupied with other beings sometimes a language
isn’t shared an instinctive track is all that’s revealed.
She puts her brain to the task:
to work against a past forbear to understand, dismantle.
Jennifer Firestone is the author of Flashes (Shearsman Books) Holiday (Shearsman Books), Waves (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs), and from Flashes and snapshot (Sona Books). She is the co-editor of Letters To Poets: Conversations about Poetics, Politics and Community (Saturnalia Books), and an Assistant Professor of Literary Studies at Eugene Lang College (The New School). She lives with her family in Brooklyn.
ISSUE:
S U M M E R
2013
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