C. L. Von Staden, Under the Bed
Knock You Over
Kristy Snedden
Last year
I lived
at the boundary
of speed.
No matter
the bees
in my belly
or the burning
in my right eye
I said yes.
Then erased
my words
with a rag
hidden under
the antique bed.
This year
I grow a moon mouth,
a moss tongue.
I sharpen my teeth.
I deepen the hollow
in the back
of my throat
and taste
each word
before I liberate it
into the ocean
where I consider
what salt adds
and takes away,
before I haul the harvest
over the beach
and up the mountain
where I dump
the cleansed words
in the meadow
to discover
how the birds
hover or don’t hover
over each sound.
Only then
will I license them
to bring you shivers
as they run
up and down
your spine.
Only then
will I license you
to devour a word,
commit it
like flame
to each heel,
and wish you
Godspeed,
unlimited fuel,
a candle before
and behind you.
Kristy Snedden
Last year
I lived
at the boundary
of speed.
No matter
the bees
in my belly
or the burning
in my right eye
I said yes.
Then erased
my words
with a rag
hidden under
the antique bed.
This year
I grow a moon mouth,
a moss tongue.
I sharpen my teeth.
I deepen the hollow
in the back
of my throat
and taste
each word
before I liberate it
into the ocean
where I consider
what salt adds
and takes away,
before I haul the harvest
over the beach
and up the mountain
where I dump
the cleansed words
in the meadow
to discover
how the birds
hover or don’t hover
over each sound.
Only then
will I license them
to bring you shivers
as they run
up and down
your spine.
Only then
will I license you
to devour a word,
commit it
like flame
to each heel,
and wish you
Godspeed,
unlimited fuel,
a candle before
and behind you.