Poetry & Prose


I. Bedrock

Shiny stone
promises uncloaked
themselves. I wish

my armor were more like
duck feathers and less
like clay.

We were each other’s
that year.

I am reminded
of the way
scabrous rocks on

slopes behind my house look
like chocolate chips
stuck onto oatmeal

grasses. I watch the wounds
tumble out—scatter cracked
upon landing.

Pina Bausch required
that her dancers
cover themselves in soil.

II. Toothsome

The pointed edges
of my day make the
marshmallow creme times even more

pillowy. I remember the
shingles of your teeth.
On November nights

In New England
I dreamt of stippled
Hills. I couldn’t extricate it.

Pina Bausch’s
favorite ice cream flavor
was likely butterscotch

ripple. Sitting on that
curb with you, the particles
stopped soft

in their paths. I consider
Intervals of dusty
greens and golds.

III. Trimming

Pina Bausch kept
small dogs as pets. I welcome
each bit of wind.

She kept her hair long
past her waist into
old age. I wouldn’t

Let you near the scissors.
So you left and strands
held tight.

Our laughs sounded in
overlooked spaces.
Jumping from rock

to rock is easier
than jumping from
thought to nervous thought.

I wish I hadn’t
come from
Adam’s rib.

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