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Tag: Monica Ferrell

The Date

This time we’ll come gloved & blind-

folded, we’ll arrive on time.

With bees in our hair,

with an escort of expiring swans.

We’ll appear to out-of-date & out-of-tune

violin music, we’ll lie on our side.

Wearing rotting lotus behind our ears,

musk between our thighs.

This time we’ll be tied down.

We’ll cry out.

We’ll only smoke if surprised

by tragedy’s approach, as it noses closer.

This time we’ll fall in love

with the blood color

of the sunset as we’re walking home

over the bridge that takes us

between here & there.

This time we’ll forget

how ancient Sarmatian lions go on

bearing marble messages for no one

who can understand their sarcophagus language,

forget sloths who climb so slow

they die before mating.

We’ll grow improvident & stop believing

there was ever such a thing

as alone, such a hard

nail in the coffin

for one.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

The Waves

Old men on fourth-story balconies stare down at me,

Children pass by playing ball.

A mother takes in her plain tablecloth, frowning.

I will die

If before nightfall no one touches me.

There is a hospital in this town called Gli Incurabili,

They will take me there and lay me down on the bed like an ivory blade.

I will be pure as a virgin offering empty hands to Christ

And the world will throb beneath me like sea’s blue beneath its white.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

Poetry

There is nothing beautiful here

However I may want it. I can’t

Spin a crystal palace of this thin air,

Weave a darkness plush as molefur with my tongue

However I want. Yet I am not alone

In these alleys of vowels, which comfort me

As the single living nun of a convent

Is comforted by the walls of that catacomb

She walks at night, lit by her own moving candle.

I am not afraid of mirrors or the future

—Or even you, lovers, wandering cow-fat

nd rutting in the gardens of this earthly verge

here I too trod, a sunspot, parasol-shaded,

Kin to the trees, the bees, the color green.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

Invention of the Bride

At dusk words float,

Blue-fingered, without weight

In a world gone fragrant

As a gold egg cradling rose-pink yolk.

Timid at first, stilled like deer at a lake,

Now they gather to me, who pretends sleep,

Covering my face with their hands.

In the memory palace, the dead

Take short breaths.

Shamans breathe a name for who I am.

Shamans litany me into being.

I open my cold eyes, my throat.

I enter the bath, let the waters

Close over me like a gem,

Then reach for my anklet,

My red bolt of silk.

The sun rises.

From the mysterious generosity of a mother,

The sun rises.

—This time I will not be false, this time, I will be

Clear from all falsehood like a snake from its last season’s skin.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

THE TOURIST BRIDE

At the end of the night a poisonous star

Rises above Petersburg like a cancer-spot.

Cats, fevered, untranslatable,

Go long ways for secrets and fish heads.

Amorists hide in the alcoves

Of the swollen city, guarding their possessions;

I feel the feral marble machine of my heart

Leak mercury, my veins warm

When I hear two lovers twittering

In the chalice of their arms . . . There is something

Deliciously final about you, she says,

I cannot say what it is.

I cannot say who you are, he says,

Remind me.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

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