Day Log
Today I found out what is meant by indescribable.
Today I watched smoke simply leave the chimney.
Today I minded a prism holding a shivering light.
Today I found a jubilant crack in the mask.
Today the rain was a torrent of invitations.
Today I brushed all over my body with horsehair.
Today I listened to your voice as it splintered.
Today I buried my breath in your back.
Today I mapped my pleasure ritual, including everything.
Today I wore my worship out.
Captain
Rested, rare, she’s sucking
air, thunders forever, liver
parked and keyless. The door
came with a manual, a French
way of seeing. These sugary ants
arrested my face, held hostage
my tongue with sleeping antlers.
Try sun, try pylons, try slithering
throught the night. Lie sideways
the bristles and brush your back
with the wall. Mirror dog, mirror
rug, mirror all. Memory clit.
So much to knit together, random
but not forget. Grease-fighting
Dawn. I switched the off
and on. Luck rolls in the blood
I get it. Come and clear and sit.
Beside the bed a stack of teeth
and eyebrows drawn on.
A captain’s hat makes a captain
out of the dilapidated chair.
Don’t sit: sail somewhere.
-
Emma Furman is a poet living in Athens, Georgia. She earned an MFA from the University of Alabama, and her poems have appeared in American Chordata, Breadcrumbs Magazine, and Jet Fuel Review. She teaches young readers' courses with the Center for Talented Youth at Johns Hopkins University.