Tuesday, April 21, 2020

the quill is a cleft in earth

In my widow-way I held allegiance 
to the pomp of heraldry.

I wore it well, my lozenge shield 
garlanding the instruments of passion.

My arms–
did little to protect. Bespoke dissent,
the fall & flowering.

The nails were thrice gilded & split 
at their centers to pierce, 
to give gravity 
to hands & feet & heart.

Would prop—
Would point to lapis, a diamond suspended there—
Would demur to that.

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