Two Poems

Two Years Since the Bloodletting

Place your hand in mine.  Your touch feels like paper inflamed.   In our bathtub
my hand swims the way fish slant toward the light in some shallow spill, up
like iron into blood.  The freedom near your lips slopes straight, like
mine would, only I want it worse.  “I’ll suck your pipe down.”

Yeah, that place.  That way.  The iron in the mine
rings like red paper.   Dragonfly slant.  Red rapier.  I’m free.  Worse,
that flame has sent some strikes.  Straight through, run water through my pipe.
Your bathtub or mine?  I’m up like your plumbing.  I’m down.

place   paper    flame      bathtub
way     slant     some       up
iron    free      straight   like
mine   worse    pipe       down



World, you know I was never as prescient
as when I procured my abortifacient.

—Janann Dawkins, Ann Arbor, MI