Poem for Firefly by Poonam Srivastava

Life flyA day beginning with sun and arching to noon And then to night, a bloody kiss of other/ Rapid ascension, sudden drops, endless sailing smoothly, Furtive hand across your thigh The dark shadow of good-bye rushing into Roller coaster reds and yellows of Flight trembling, vibrato just beneath the skin of a cloud Like death. A memory in the gauze of a smile Well rooted in brine well saturated in the stench of Treachery. Words pull us further away from our meaning. Both orbit first person, singular and plural/ then second person Singular and then plural. One and many, constant currents Within my waters rapid in veins engorged and raging. Facebook brings all the worlds together/ Nostalgic longings pollinating with present night-mare schemes. Winter finds me wrapped in summer silks sweating the sex from my pores. Lesbian woman born woman loving woman whatever the origin or ontology, Genetic burden carried by innocents thrown with venom.

Life fly A flight of fancy/ A kissing staircase of lie Upon lie wavering in dusk/ And dawn/ A stone structure burned Solid in the heat of noon bright sun/ To turn liquid again as light sinks into horizon. And night rises like the force of your hand In between my legs buried deep/ Rubbing my consciousness into ecstasy. A door bolted iron rusting covered in fall leaves The handle trips me as I run from you. My cheek lands hard upon an edge, The blood salty and warm on my tongue/ Dry cotton fields to the horizon’s palate As your sharp breath enters my soul through nose, eye and ear and skin and cunt/ Taut like canvass prepared, dreamt, conjugated in various tongues. The body knows itself and wills its own existence, merrily stoic of mind worries and worldly miseries and social injustice. The body wants to be fed and loved and rested without names/ With food and love’s taste regardless of words/ Unalienable release shared rhythm rocks to rest against.

Fly life A file of fermenting Folds fielding conjurers of various camps/ Proclaiming creation in their names. I know you as the one I touched and felt/ Firm and solid even as we turned to water Fleeing ourselves onto the softest sheets I’d ever touched. My web address when the climb gets too rough.

Steve CannonTribes