Published: November 17, 2010

For it, I am a Martian—

Rowing a coracle

Shaped like a ribcage, wish bones for oars.

A goat thief, extracting ovaries

For my lover’s child, I give birth on the backbones

Of coracles from the moon’s folklore—

I am Queen.

I am a prose poem, my rhythm suave

As parachutes landing on Egypt’s sand.

Those past-thirty times look nothing like me.

I’ve bartered my penitents with a pearly God

Your name captured in the trade. My tongue is a toll gate

To heaven, eyes glazed over with telescopes

Weaved into my orbital muscles like dream catchers.

My heart wears galoshes over every beat. So I dare you to love me.