08-25-2014, 10:26 AM
A Red Tricycle in the Belly of the Pool
- Karyna McGlynn
the live oak over the nursery got a disease
they could only save one limb
it wasn’t surprising; it wasn’t that kind of nursery
a girl rode her red tricycle around the bottom of the pool
the pool had no water; it hadn’t rained
the girl kept smelling her hand
it smelled like honeywheat, or the inside of a girl’s panties
someone said, race you
she nodded okay and pedaled like hell
after three laps no one had passed her
she looked over her shoulder, lost her balance
ripped her hands & knees on the blue concrete
the one limb on the live oak curved like a question
would she need stitches again
there was already ink under her skin & iodine on her tongue
or was it the other way around
she could see black thread bunching
sewing centipedes under her skin
her throat burned and she couldn’t move her legs
it wasn’t a tricycle
it was something she couldn’t get her foot out from under
she hated to stop or lose her shoe and, I’m sorry
the pool was full of water
I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl
- Emily Dickinson
I tie my Hat—I crease my Shawl—
Life's little duties do—precisely—
As the very least
Were infinite—to me—
I put new Blossoms in the Glass—
And throw the old—away—
I push a petal from my Gown
That anchored there—I weigh
The time-twill be till six o'clock
I have so much to do—
And yet—Existence—some way back—
Stopped—struck—my ticking—through—
We cannot put Ourself away
As a completed Man
Or Woman—When the Errand's done
We came to Flesh—upon—
There may be—Miles on Miles of Nought—
Of Action—sicker far—
To simulate—is stinging work—
To cover what we are
From Science—and from Surgery—
Too Telescopic Eyes
To beat on us unshaded—
For their—sake—not for Ours—
'Twould start them—
We—could tremble—
But since we got a Bomb—
And held it in our Bosom—
Nay—Hold it—it is calm—
Therefore—we do life's labor—
Though life's Reward—be done—
With scrupulous exactness—
To hold our Senses—on—
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions