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May 15, 2017 | Poetry

Three Poems

Leslie Marie Aguilar

Three Poems photo

Exile

In this myth,      I’m queen of a capsized throne.
           Robes      thrown over my head      are a curtain

of heavenly bodies   —   a personal planetarium
           of ruin.      My compass points north,      when

the only direction      I want to travel is home.
           A place      beneath      the sleeves      of a star

wheel,      where      plains become      a borderland
           of splintered skeletons.      I carry these skulls

for centuries      in a funeral procession      over prairies.
           I’ve lost      my hourglass.      Replaced it

with      a secondhand sundial.      But the moon rises
           across my face.      Too late.      Tremors

radiate      through my skull.      Cold fronts crawl
           over      the balcony of my collar      bone

as cosmic winds.      & the web      stemming
           from my nose      becomes a star-studded veil.

Another      body shrouded      in mirrored thread,
           I’m fastened      to a darkening      desert sky.


Landlocked

What to name clusters of indigo beads blooming in my garden? Bluebonnet cousins? Starry stems? Steps away from my front door, an ocean breaks open. The door a caravel that carries me windward. & am I not homesick, yet? Rising with each current, I receive gifts of salt grapes, whale songs, & canyon winds. Less fear where water becomes prairie grass. I hold these hyacinths (now named) to my chest. Let my body be carried to their ceilinged sky.


Seams

When I exhaust all other forms of exploration,
           this landscape will deny me at the border;

& I will turn my gaze toward a darkening
           sky filled with stars I no longer recognize.

This is a realigning of the body, I imagine.
           The horizon meeting an ocean & shattering

into shards of light that pierce this meat-
           coated skeleton hurtling through space.

It’s all very dramatic against such a sound-
           proof backdrop. I put on my skin inside-

out with the seams still showing. Creation—
           bloodless veins embroidered over bone.

I’ll dance this coat into a familiar tapestry
           but will be found out. Meteors cannot

erase the scars or satellites wandering
           along boundaries of this planetary body.

 

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