Sara Dudo - Two Poems

SACRIFICE

Atlantic City spews     
its light, exiling marsh

lifedew & deathfog. 
Casinos are white teeth 

of an ugly mouth gaping, 
brilliant from afar.

August, I leave pearl earrings.
Teach me to grieve 

with ambition, his body 
with an expiration date. 

Ambitious grief: 

exchanging light & ceiling
fan air funneling down his back.

He might die at any time,
call it stasis, call it synchrony.

In apricot sheets, I challenge 
autumn. You understand 

the way this makes extinct 
all regret, as with snow 

resting on window lip stale 
in dusk’s porous light.

On his knees, he could be
a bay window bounding

with sunlight, frosting over. 
His chest a light cluster,

a cumuli swaying corn. 
Flute of words−

think of our bodies as seeds 
blown in from shore wind, 

scent of goldenrod & phlox.
We must plant them. 

We must die. We must 
birth back something new. 

Bathe me in the moonwash,
metamorphose a tulip of light,

smooth the epoxy till I am
a spring of water welling up

to eternal life where I’d watch
him grown, where I’d, for

a small lifetime, hold him up 
in front of the sun. 


SOMA

His arms butterflied 
to the carpet:

Luna snakes her small hands 
under Uncle Ray’s armpits, 
little fingers digging 
at horseshoe ribs. 

Her laugh glitters the room. 

*

Some time ago, bluets growing
in large groups. 
A small child
in a raincoat 
walking through spruce.

Deer passage and clouds bolster
cotton candy drums: 
a little girl
obsesses over white 
porous bones
of a deer, then the skull
of a raccoon. 

*

He opens his mouth in a yowl and
allows the attack, shaking the table 
with yellow carnations
shimmying condolences 
card pinned to a sprig.

Luna is so beautiful:
the cure for all
false-light 

*

Every child learns 
storms don’t care 
to relieve drought:

they heave when they need,

sit on the porch with your father

and wait for the lights. 

*

He plucks her up, her body hovering 
airplane above his body, 
curls of lemon and light suspend
a pair of light-up shoes 

dangle in the air of bodies
that have come and have gone. 

Pearls
of rain. 

Karolinn FiscalettiIssue 7