Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom

Palengenesis

As for me, I'll go to root,

strike solid rock until it cracks

like sod and crumbles, spread

my hands and feet, grow gills,

swim all the way to Shangri-La.

I'll enter through the hiding

place we found, the field

of rye and milkweed -- spiked

with stinging nettles, fire

ants and mosquitoes -- where we

lay.  The song that lured me

there has taken root as well,

and still slinks silently between

your dreams.  I cup my ear.  No

charmer's flute could raise

it now.  And the sinkhole where we

pitched our tent, planted a seed --

a diver's pearl -- oh, if we

could find that stone again, stow

it safely home between our teeth.

<< previous :: contents :: next >>