Weather Forecast
Weather Forecast
Trees, waving, sense rain
that we take for warning
but perhaps the waves attempt
to strangle the devil for what
their roots need. Their visions
of sugar plums not
the same as ours.
Melva Sue Priddy
Weather Forecast
Trees, waving, sense rain
that we take for warning
but perhaps the waves attempt
to strangle the devil for what
their roots need. Their visions
of sugar plums not
the same as ours.
Melva Sue Priddy
Her erection
became
The Empire State building,
making my surrounding hand
New York City.
My vulva sighed every time she let the air
out of me.
Looking into her eyes as the pads of my
fingers trace the wrinkled ridges
of her scrotum. I said
I’m Joseph.
Her bearded lips revealed her name
a moment before the kiss,
Mary.
hi mom, thought you should know I’ve
been sleeping with the windows open
thinking all the time about elektra’s
had you seen me / you would have loved me
and how verse like that just rattles around
in me like a trapped moth.
waiting for something larger than this room
to bear witness to my languish before
I’m nothing but silt. my train leaves tomorrow
but I’ve lost my phone charger. leavings are just calculated
disintegration, huh?
of my living room
window I count
three spiders
and realize, with a
gasp, that one of
them is eating
another spider.
I get so close
my lashes
graze the glass.
I’ve never seen
the feast before
and I praise
the pane
for getting
me so close.
She is liquefying
the insides and
drinking with
the force of
her whole body;
somehow not chewing
makes her seem
more elegant.
Her legs look as sharp
and clean as needles,
they shake her web
in such a beastly way
I think her hunger
must have been
a fierce burden
she’s now well
shot of.
She’s such a
pretty cannibal.
In the middle
of loving her
I look at the other
two, and wonder
who will be next,
if I can still
love whichever
one is left.
Bury me
in the stuffing of the false leather where it first surprised us both crossing my lips
baptize me in your name.
Bury me
in the pockets of your father’s leather jacket in which he buried your mother and for that
he was on my side.
Bury me
in the borders of your favorite photograph the man behind the newspaper the one that made
you cry to be him for me and for yourself.
Bury me
beneath the floor boards of that house where you sank into me and the cushions
like you came from us and for us.
Bury me
in the liquor bottle you bought on tuesday invading your blood stream to feel what it is
to be drunk inside you.
Bury me
behind your teeth and under your tongue where I came to understand
the difference between young and new.
Bury me.
I
A wall surrounded me
and kept me
from the trees outside
dancing in the breeze
II
The ant, reaching
the tip of the leaf,
turned around to explore
the rest of the tree.
III
The leaves upturned
in anticipation,
the tree breathes
in and out
IV
The forest calls,
the lawn separates;
the tree does not understand
these concepts
I.
Hurrying to garden’s currant grove
there is no sound
only clanging lust for seedy tartness
Now
II.
Sun-licked temptress-red fruits entice
Plucked from leaves’ womb
ripest juiciest
burst upon bite
pucker tongue
III.
Later
Scarlet floats bob on milk foam
zero cereal’s sweetness
Stop your struggling to descend to fast—
rest awhile you are so tired.
Soft snow sings a siren’s song—
hides her graveyard of the never seen again.
Last year snapped up from her bed
snatched three toes off in her touchless mouth—
disguised as cotton, mother-nuzzling my head.
She would have swallowed me without a sound
if my party had not seen the blinking flare.
Now I shout out to the crystallizing moon
The snow is lying. She is gouging out my eyes.
A white gowned Satan draws me down.
Children, spurn the dealer who sets his price at life.
Do not listen children, to high lying snow—
when she says her bosom is not cold.
Vanilla.
Vanilla had always been her flavor of choice.
Safe. Predictable. Can-never-go-wrong-vanilla.
Until today.
For reasons quite surprising ,
she couldn’t fathom the thought of another vanilla day.
Today,
looking over her shoulder,
as if her vanilla-lover was lurking around the corner,
she, ever so determinedly,
chose
chocolate.
1.
i toss the lion’s paws upon the kitchen table,
its tail in a soup pot with rice and beans…
its head i wear, my heroic eyes peering through
its maw, a tiara of teeth / its tongue slung to the side:
Champion of the Gods,
i was born with a silver moon in my mouth.
Demon Slayer. Storm Tamer. Soothsayer. Fannie Lou
Hamer tattooed on my ass’s jawbone. and when i roar
a billion lightning bugs pour forth from mouth soaring
into the sky until all is overcast and dark;
portentous by my own doing.
the folktale in the leaves of your teacup say:
“a trouble is a-brewing….”
2.
and this is how i come, in love, to you.
my heart folded into this tannery of pillow talk.
my lungs a sheath for all your loose skin.
my entire mouth a mortar for your sugars,
sugar, come and grind all of your spices here…
the skull bone of a foreign love god is my cereal bowl
but the grains within are yet not sweet; let me steep
you in its milk until the honey comes.
i know, in you, there is honey…
a centuries-ago prophecy sent me to your door
and i smell the apiary you sleep in on your gown.
even in your shadow there is sorghum. meniscus,
tendons, and gristle; not one empty calorie…
i beg you, love, to let me feast.
3.
the 365 Labors of Kereenyaga Heru
each day i contend with throngs to keep you
safe. happy. and draped in desire. i whittle mountains
down into busts of you, placing each atop a pedestal,
a pyramid, or a simple soapbox…
your umbrageous charm, to me, an ivory tower;
this silhouette of us is a constellational song.
the lion’s growl – from my own lamentations – creeping;
with the husk of me at your heels, weeping.
and this is how i come to Heaven…
this is how i hunger you.
