February 8th, 2017

a positioned woman
recites a prayer
in a sad, broken tone
under a dome of black ice

seven men surround the matron
seventh sons of seventh sons
as the woman prays for rain
the men’s wet lips glisten bright

“What deluge for you?
What erosive floods?
What sacrilege this?
These words burn our blood!”

from a hole high above
drops a knife on a string
swift, silver, and sharp
hunting for tongues

and what the knife finds:
a tongue praying for rain
in a persistent matron
such a dangerous thing

February 8th, 2017

Sock it to me

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