the pugilist

post-tryst and alone, she tried to recall:

               is it the heart that is the size of a fist,
               or the uterus?

                              (and anyway, what sized fist?
                              i've seen some pretty mean hands
                              folded into small neat squares.  the
                              fist could be smallish, or immense,
                              but  is it my heart or my uterus that
                              is fist-like)

this was important.  she needed to know
the nature of her weaponry.




--




previously published in Breadcrumb Scabs, March, 2011.

straddling that new limb

and exhaled warmth
against my wingbones
breathes me from the tree.

transparent in this bed of green,
I try to tame the clouds.

=====

published in Poetry Quarterly, summer 2012