(eda bee) poetry

just a girl 


i. my thumb moves


my thumb moves
i see

married couples, beach houses, women in faux fur, 
keto recipes, clips of dogs running in wild circles, 
men with bulging biceps and heavy fists, hair clips
that cover bald spots, rolling hills drenched in dew, 
lies about communism, what i eat in a day
body checks, rich whipped cream in homemade jars, 
anti-crow’s-feet creams, 
skinny-chic girly-pops
women who plead to me to save them, 
with worry-wrinkled eyes, 
wailing bombs, sobbing chemicals --
girls, toddlers, 
begging me to save them from 
grown ups. 

my thumb moves
another woman killed

i see a church and open the door
the door that leads bodies to funerals
hidden so no one has to look.

i’m not holy
i still see them
when my thumb moves


ii. just a girl


what can i do? 
i'm just a girl

just a girl!

in the world where everything 
keeps happening --

a blazing fire
compressed to sound
what will i see next?
suffering resized into a square
fits in the palms of my hands!

i’m just a girl
crying into her phone
and credit card bills
	
        (where do donations go?)
	(who wants war?)

i know what i’ll do:
i’ll chop off my hair,
sleep outside --
listen for babies to whine - -
put something rough between me and mercy - -

just a girl - -
i do what i know:
                   ache


iii. a dream


clare dreamed she drank from francis’ body
and woke believing it was god.
i dreamed just now that the president 
started world war iii 
but i woke up and 
the feed was clean - -
no guns, no tear gas - -
just mcdonald’s, fitness routines,
impossibly beautiful women, ai bunnies - -

no footage, no news,
no blood - - 
but in this dream,
there was war.

i feel the horror, the vibrations of bombs --

my alarm went off but
i feel relief before 
i feel shame.

isn’t this what I wanted?

mama's hand over my eyes,
telling me it's alright?


iv. mother-load


installed in me
like a second spine
programmed to seek
a baby’s cry
the order in my nerves 
sings lullabies - -

no sleep for me
we learned early 
how to whither meat till the bone

do you know how exhausting it is to model empathy?
there is no ceremony -  -

it passes down,
like breath,
like wind-thinning valleys that bear
clear water


v. break


i break bread with dark
disaster-gazing - - this light
bleaches 
the 
                         light




(eda bee)

sonic poem etudes


i.  after the long, dark night:
 daybreak(!) ,

ii.  what is sleep, if
                                     not             surrender?

iii.  the sun: a-
       miracle,                        a        - -       void

interlude

iv.  cicadas, clocks,
                     cowards!  God’s circadian    
                                             circus

v.  o,
         if only heaven could breathe - -




(eda bee)

cold,

    low --

valley,
asleep in rivers, 

floating 
                                           up,

unless --
                the sky will not wait

got to hand it
                                           over --

just when we learn to breathe we wake
                                           up




(eda bee)

accidents happen


stutter and fumble
like a toddler wearing steel toed boots
tripping over trap taut strings,
every bang and clack and pop
a misstep,
a regrettably obvious
fault —

sulk,
scream and kick and cry,
why don’t you?
lament over your freshly stubbed toe,
bleeding underneath your concert black,

the layer that refuses to forgive,
leaves
tossed out in the open,
stinging, biting, singing,
wondering if
when i yelp out to the empty city
of the concert hall,
when i inevitably shout,
will it echo in perfect symmetry?

it tries but the hurt isn’t there.

that first one makes buildings
crumble and fall,
tremor,
loudly,
accidentally,
their glass window teeth chattering on the edge of
collapse,
losing the battle of structural
integrity
right in front of us.

are they embarrassed?
timid now that they know
(that we know)
that they have fallen apart?

maybe next time, then,
i’ll write a ballet
for the clumsy ballerinas.
flat footed,
tottering and graceless,
a mob more than a dance —

tiny fires
overlapping each other and
burning brighter

small dancing lights flickering
just so

no one can see
when
accidents
happen




(eda bee)