Lullaby To A Child They Say Will Not Live Through The Night

the fog worked on the coffin without a sound
like a tire rim rusting in the dark
I went around waiting for some scum to grow on the lid
I wanted to hewn me oars to take you home
I wanted to bring clean sheets dipped in ice water
and smell your curls like strawberry vines
have a one of you seen how long it takes to wave so long or lose a crop
I plant my garden under the gradual pressure of the loveliest saddle
forgetting the undergrowth of sorrow
I make loops for the worms my darlings
I take a bath in a grave with no soap
and keep the secret of the fingernails and vortices of dirt
a pelt is taken by the sound of a lantern going out
and I tremble with the channel cat black as soot
and I pass out on funeral jazz and slow water rag
I betroth myself to the tension of the raccoon's approach
flexing my eyes with the dark
and I swear on my life
I will prowl this black island until I can return
your dirty kiss lightning's flesh and thunder's hurt
I stand ready for the spume of your cooked tongue
it is a simple ceremony
a girl has burned
her wilderness to honey but not to death
a woman will die
before the hunter rises I can hear the embers from my boat
from my bed I can see the odor of her pillows

© Ginny Stanford