Divination

Wow, I just realized I was a LITTLE late on posting this one. It was written for a lit-mag theme of "Tabula Rasa," and received recognition on the art site I belong to! :) I'll probably update when I hear back on whether this has been accepted to the journal or not.

I'm not sure the piece is evocative enough or flows well. All comments most welcome!

"I Have No Names of All My Teacup Babes"

I feel always like I am starting over.

As a magpie I gather trinkets under my pillow,
bay leaves and bags of herbs to bring the next lover to me,
to call the next dream-face forward—a picture
painted in the tea leaves.

But truth be told the start-again
is never clean, is never gentle,
and the sweat of all that labour
is a fire on my skin, telling me
I will never resist its wind-cry.

The moon comes when I call, to help me;
midwife, she is, and she carries into being my new selves
like the babes they are, teaches them to
fill long footsteps like hers.

Truth be told, I tire of the destiny
I was given once—I am a teacup,
and I cling close to my china womb,
to my cup tipped over, upset
by careless elbows.

I imagine Mother Moon climbing her way back to me
on the backs of pine trees, sweeping across the Appalachians.

South by Southwest

For this topic, I couldn't help thinking of the wind, somehow. The wind and the Grand Canyon.

Written for a Halloween contest! I'd love any and all comments ;)

"A Kiss for a Ghost, Not Given"

I remember the bar in Ocracoke,
the chill that came like a wind from the Southwest
as he told me where he was from.

There was a moment when he looked me in the eye
and I could see my walk
one morning along the southern edge of the Canyon,
my hurried scramble from the oracle-birds
that had guided my steps

—and a moment of realization in the car
when I had rejected him, and, heading for the highway,
found my eyes searching the rearview mirror,
hoping not to meet his gaze.

Flightless Bird, American Mouth

I challenged myself for this piece by following a prompt that asked me to compose a poem backwards. This poem was quite a challenge. Ultimately the way I did it was write a poem, then reconstruct it roughly backwards (though I've obviously taken some license with the phrasing so that it makes SOME sense when read this way).

I'd REALLY love some critique on the piece:
1) Title - I've tried to come up with a title that signals to the reader that the chronology of the piece is backwards, but I'm not sure I've managed it. All advice to this effect would be IMMENSELY helpful.
2) How much sense does the piece make as it is? Do you like it as is, or does it still feel like it should take place in the other direction?
3) Punctuation: Do you like it? Does it work?

"End to Beginning, Lived Life"

Christ.)

to the dying of the light
and to Hades to pay my respects
my solemn flightless way
make I ,Ophelia and Virginia Woolf

.the sea to the lifeblood
mountain stream ,followed I the path
that burnt had been ,cold and clean

,to Georgia ,lonely and looking
at my own wingless bird-back
,bore I myself as a pilgrim

.(shuffle I may my Merlin feet
,but never still will I be