It’s hard to think of a title for a poem about something I haven’t named yet, but here are my thoughts.
//
I’m sitting in a hammock,
Everything delicately balanced, deliberately
Balanced
Swaying in the wind
A spruce tree, grounding me
Ants burrowing in my scalp, generous venomous kisses
Love bites, the pleasure-pain, pleasure-pain, and as I’m
Swaying in the wind,
I can’t decide
Which is which is which is which;
The hammock tips.
For one perfect moment, I’m flying,
Swimming in the pleasure-pain and totally weightless, one body, one
Love, I am falling, and
I hit the ground like lightning, I am
Electric.
Uninhibitable.
I am the dirt beneath and I am the sky above and I am the invert mistress of all crawling things, all
hungry things. Poor creatures.
They do not feel ashamed to be lowly.
Why should I?
The hammock is still
Swaying in the wind
I crush me in my fist and watch the juices squirrel out between my fingers. The
Ripest nectarine, bruised.
Rivulet and drip,
Drip and geyser
I watch, with detached interest,
My own biology at work,
Demanding violence.
I know how to be loved. I swear.


















