“Hawk”, “Vanity Flare”, and “The woman with a tumor in her neck” first appeared in Poetry. Courtesy of the author.

www.wendyvidelock.com

Wendy Videlock is featured in Edition: Out Of This World

has a moth in her palm,
a river on her tongue,
a scalpel in her boat,
a lump in her throat,
a gamble in her shoe,
a fire in her den,
a shadow in her flesh,
a flutter in her breast,
like everybody else.

I’ve grown attached,

said the lichen
to the stone,
said the speckle
to the roan,
said the sand
to the foam,
said the flesh
to the bone.

is selective
and biased
and hardly
the wisest

goddess we know;

even so,

she travels long

through sleet and snow
and ancient sun

and who’s to say
what’s to grieve

when she is so clearly
biased toward me.

The forest is the only place
where green is green and blue is blue.
Walking the forest I have seen
most everything. I’ve seen a you
with yellow eyes and busted wing.
And deep in the forest, no one knew.

Somewhat tired
from lacing their shoes
two men stood
balanced between

a giant planet’s
littlest moon
and a minuscule
freshwater pool.

So huge

is our ignorance,
muttered one,
we might as well be mute.

Don’t get me wrong: I know
that knowledge is power,
that mystery’s water,
that hunger makes
a gargantuan lover,

and yes, I’ve drunk
of the river Lethe,
from the book of the Celts,
from the echo of
the bugling elk,

and yet, alas,

here I be,
small and twee,
all liquored up
on song and love,
hard as rails

and light as air,
expecting the heavens
to throw down a flare,
to send in the clowns,
to burn a bush,

strike up the sea,
anything
that might mean
those cloudy bastards
have noticed me.