4 Poems

Emily Teixeira

my bones itch from the inside
i feel
like spilled water
on hot pavement
my blood seems to pop
and sizzle
i’m neither molting
nor cocooning
i’m conducting
lightning splitting
the tallest tree
I know God’s hand makes glass of sand
what will be made of me?
The two-toned raspberry flowers
rest indefinitely on obsidian plywood
The whispering breath through my open window
and misty condensation wrapping our bodies
lengthen time and glitter on into infinity
Dust suspends in motion beyond
I inhale—
our ancestors, stars, oceans
speak to me:
and I am filled with new life-blood
red and coating my muscles in warm wind
as a fledgling falls into fog
to shock out shy wings
At dawn, black holes crash into candy-floss beaches
and I am coaxed into waking
with stretching sun, with fluttering eye
with curved lips, both yours and mine.
then spring awakens
it stomps snow piles
and pleads for
girls’ toes to be
uncovered spring calls
for savagery
ice to floods that give
to roadkill
and tulips
then spring jars life
from its
deep lovely death
sleep to be thawed
by sun and kindly
drowned by
fresh rivers
spring believes not
in right but in
miles of sand sifts through hands.
she sighs against continents,
each indent left by our wandering
smoothed by our mother’s touch.

she raised us to know
sun rises and grows
over hills and mountains,
then finally, breathlessly,
retires to the ocean.

And so the cold waters welcome us

Featured Artwork:
Trachsel, Albert. “The Lightning”. Wikimedia, Accessed Decemember 2016, https://commons.wikimedia.org.