War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

lazarus (20)

0130 hrs he rises from the half-shell of her hot tub
stands on the deck looks out at Race Rocks’
lighthouse beam night vision over cool black Pacific waters,
he pisses, like a wolf, on the North West East South of her land,

the satellite inside his head stings wasp messages east
to west, west to east, “baby I miss you, baby, are we dead?”
but no one was home to answer the phone call from the war zone
left him on endless patrol, alone, war’s forensics tick click

when he meets his new lover their tears/kisses bend their bodies
bend them like thin planks of cedar with heat, relief, steam, sweat,
a war weary man, a war weary woman, into bent wood boxes
this is the container in which their ancestors meet;

above her bed, no, in the bed of her heart,
left ventricle where he’d been born—
a black bear’s bed, by the Snake river,
musky, grassy, blood, flesh, breath, nest—

she hangs mulberry beads, a glassy tree of life,
he fingers them, holds them to his lips
in her bed, “you were made for me”, he says
over and over and over again

he tastes
the sweetest juice
from the mulberries.

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The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled lazarus (20). It was posted here on September 01, 2011.


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