Photo by Janco Ferlich via Unsplash
Body Not Hers
For my children, when they grow up
The darkness within me, it’s all-
engulfing, viscous, and real,
the mystery of its black rose
Dark objects fall in and out
Mars glides by glowing red,
a fascinating eye into hell.
Saturn, redeeming, throws its icy
discus to capture my heart.
Venus holds out her breasts, full wineskins,
suckling her son on her lover’s bed.
Caught in the snare, the snare.
The small solar system with one
This darkness has wings. Not
widespread feathery sails reaching
for the sky, sweeping the earth
with the arrogance of one airborne,
but small, translucent wings
flapping quickly, one hundred
and seventy beats per minute.
There, in the darkness within me.
The rose that shelters a bee
has sealed its petals. Dark fragrance
wraps a body that is not hers and is
First published in The Remembered Arts Journal, Fall 2018
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