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May 24, 2018 Poetry

2 Poems

Jessica Lieberman

2 Poems photo

Dogwood 

I knew the blossoms. I caught 
them all. My mother
won’t let me forget this.  
But really, what’s so bad about 
marking this way?  
The tree saying she was this high
the summer she learned 
to take and be taken 
by what pleased her.  
I’ve always imagined using
my teeth in a violent way,
and, speaking of cock, once
my mother told me dogwoods 
mist those who pass under.
I don’t have memory 
of my dogwood behaving this way.  
Hard to remember a time before 
sex was rained onto me.  

 

Lepidopterist Seeking Romance

    Ever fantasize                          about playing

   dead?                             Slowly,

   I’ll pin                          each wing, 

           cherish                        the obscene      

glinting.

 

 

image: Aaron Burch


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