When we think of sticks, do we think tree; oh
bramble of me; what part of us, scatters wind,
becomes home to something other; how your
skinny bones in drape, mulberry limbs; oh slats
of light, ribs of; & dusk always resides in chest,
in fissures between lobes where all of us lie
temporal & disoriented, oh this piece of; suture
back; yes a question, no no an answer; how
skeletal the bark of us, word & flesh; I left me
for you propped against the girth of trunk; how
we shed ourselves over & over: snake bundled
in snake skin; once, yes, once we were one.
FELICIA ZAMORA's books include Of Form & Gather, 2016 Andrés Montoya Poetry Prize winner (University of Notre Dame 2017), & in Open, Marvel (Parlor Press 2018), and Instrument of Gaps (Slope Editions 2018). Her poetry is found in Alaska Quarterly Review, jubilat, North American Review, Prairie Schooner, The Georgia Review, West Branch, and others. She won the 2015 Tomaž Šalamun Prize, is the Associate Poetry Editor for Colorado Review, and is Education Programs Coordinator for the Virginia G. Piper Center for Creative Writing.
Latest posts by Felicia Zamora (see all)
- In Our Bundle - February 25, 2019
