I have seen,
while standing in the tall grass,
the earth’s haggard turning
as if I, a speck forgotten,
sat abandoned on a swivel table
the child with her giant’s hand
gleaming, beaming, sunny patches on
her cheeks spinning the ground as her
permission grants her so she laughs at
such freedom, pouring into the green
with it, a loveless humming so the field
is rock, now smoother stone.
I have seen
the earth cease altogether,
null and not
rigid as fish bone, grain and crust
tolling the hours on some misting beach
hair and breath with no wind to lift them,
a still house with darkness a lost dog,
scavenging the night with prowls long,
deranged, no whistles or air swept with
singing, the heavy horns of enemies
mounted on a wall, adorned escapes with
dreams of narrow; sleepers of the kill.
Heat-ticks writhing in marrow, under the hulls
with pulse and grit, wood and glass heaving, mortar-soaked,
disengaged.
I have seen the battering ram,
the last wolf’s hollow howl,
seen strange beasts curl,
their weight, armored strength God-willed,
suffer, shudder, fetal and pinned; natal spheres.
The awful order, existing to be mismanaged, and I,
holding no water
can hardly be expected to flee from it.
Amanda Emilio is a musician and poet from Long Island, NY. Her work appears in places such as The Janus Journal, Amethyst Review, Beyond Words Magazine and elsewhere.
Instagram: @sun_spotsss