[Originally published in the now-defunct “zine” Message in a Bottle.]
This is not who I love. This is not what I love.
Love is a god-stone, thick and sometimes valuable,
strong-wristed, one arc of a finger
stretching.
Love has the weight of god, the weight of Eve’s sister,
Lilith, and vomit, water mixed with salt,
A mottled permutation of tear strained skin,
pink and ordinary, thinly veined and iridescent,
the sigh of sun arriving into day’s orange blue.
This is who I love. This is what I love.
An evening of chimneys and steam,
a cloud of feather and frog,
green eyes.
| Copyright © 2020 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively. |
Love how you twist on the expected. My first read I thought “stained” instead of “strained” and “fog” instead of “frog”. Catching those made me rethink the images, but it still worked for me. The only line that I could not embrace was the vomit. To me it felt a bit out of place, but overall, really enjoyed your images, and you inspired me to chance down some details about Lilith leading me to a piece of my own. Thanks, Michael!
ReplyDeleteI too took to the similar, expected words “stained” and “fog,” and also “sight” (of sun). Deliberate on the poet’s part, I suspect. Provocative. Michael H. Brownstein continually amazes.
DeleteThanks for the great insights and input. I really appreciate your comments and assistance!
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