Terrible Blooms. Melissa Stein

Slap

      14  Wormhole

       [ iv ]

      1  Rapture

      2  Clerestory

      3  Masochist

      4  Ring

      5  Hive

      6  Bind

      7  we have grown nautical

      8  Lily of the valley

      9  Lewis and Clark

      10  Almanac

      11  Husband

      12  driveway

      13  Grisly variations

      14  Eulalia

      15  Quarry

      16  Little fugue

      17  Dear columbine, dear engine

      18  Dead things

      19  What sound

      20  Mouth

        About the Author

        Also by Melissa Stein

        Acknowledgments

        Copyright

        Special thanks

      [ i ]

      Harder

      If you’re going to storm,

      I said, do it harder.

      Pummel nests from limbs

      and drown the furred things

      in their dens. Swell creek

      to flood, unhome the fish.

      Everything’s gone too cozy.

      Winnow, flush. Let’s see

      what’s got the will.

      Let’s watch what’s tender

      choke or breathe. Try

      to make a mark on me.

      Beast

      Tadpole with legs.

      Hawk with a long tail

      that is a snake

      dangling from its beak.

      The apple limb

      grafted to the plum tree,

      blue Mustang

      with the dull white hood,

      Ken with the head of Barbie.

      The boy with a new plump fist

      of heart or kidney

      or some shining pins or discs

      or a thick, imperative tube

      fastening a mechanism

      of breath. What’s wrong

      with me is you.

      blessings

      may your harvest fit in a sack may none of your apples be sweet may barbed wire tear off the snouts of your pigs may the mirror show the scarecrow’s face the moon shine on your wedding day may the milliner embroider your bonnet with nettles the blackberry fell your dog may your every joy grow a carbuncle may your eyes go to milk may the moth make its nest in your bedclothes the wind blow sickness in your ears may your husband leave you for a crone may his mother season your cooking from the grave may corncrakes gnaw your sour bones a shadow fall across your shadow the mice lay their eggs in the mouths of your children your children have the blacksmith’s eyes may tracks lead hunters to your door your fingers melt like candles may you succumb to god’s terrible kittens may the wolf carry off the heart of your heart and the swans swim thrice by your grief

      Birthstone

      Facedown in carpet,

      arm pinned behind me.

      Oh, opal. Oh, tourmaline.

      Oh emerald of the cool, cool shade.

      A jewel is buried in this

      pile I will find it with

      my teeth. Pearl from grit

      wrought me. Do you know I

      have hopscotch and dandelion,

      weathervane, watering can.

      I have a story, I am skipping

      out into whiteblue checkered

      yes that is an apron, edged

      in rickrack, whipped

      by wind into the shape of

      my mother. The sun behind her.

      Cut out of that light with

      pinking shears, steps out

      with face and whole hands,

      entire: that old apron

      wrapped twice around

      my waist, kitchen soldier,

      jade milk-glass mixing

      bowl wire whisk and sifter,

      the floured board, the dough’s

      shagged