Ariel Gordon


Reek

You burst through the door, hot
& angry, eager to keen
& wail into my ear. Dad-dad telegraphs
your refusal to nap at the sitter’s, the entire shrieking
ride home, his nostrils already flared
by working fires, exhaust
& spring’s gritty exhumation
with a lifted eyebrow. As you leap
into my arms, reeking of dog
& incense, your hair lifts.


Rush-light

Storm-light’s grey clarity and you bluster.
Syllables batter against the rear-view, cling
to the meat of my earlobes
still half-a-city from home.

Rain clouds unroll over rush-hour, its ticking
stale from storage. Mouth open, I blare My Bonny
shoulder-checking headlights
and grit twisters
at the curb.

In evening’s rush-light and traffic’s flare
your face goes bone before you drop off
leaving a body to bob
over swells of asphalt and tar,
a body for me to bundle inside.


substitution…unleaved.

The sticky ant-walked nubs of peony
buds showing lurid lippy shiners
under prim sepals
for the latest red bonk unfurling
under the skin of your headfirst
ass over teakettle
tumbles.

The up-thrust females from the mossy cowl
on slim aspens here there along the tree line
for the wiry spray of hair
on your intersection of head and bed
those humid nights
you spent between us.


How To See Deer

Be near-sited. Tapetum-lit eyes / fireflies.
Spots and voids behind lids /
pelt markings.

In autumn rut refrain
from holding
hands.

Bed down in dog parks. Urban deer
& scraggly stands of trees
reek of pee.

Be capable of stupid happiness
at rumpy flashes
in trees.

Stomp until utterance is overcast
by leaves and twigs of trembling
aspen, bur oak
& beaked willow. Strip bark.


Twelve

You were my time piece,
one hand on my shoulder, the other
rooting around
in my shirt. Even half asleep
your third eye was always on the clock.
A year in, you're still a stickler:
just enough time to shower, just enough
to eat so I can feed
you again: Tick
tock, mummy. Tick tock.