Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2017  Vol. 16 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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God asked me, like he asked Job, Can you loosen Orion’s belt?

I got just what I need in Virgo.
Her vertices accommodate my knees
when I hyperextend in her. I broke
a tibia once because my muscles seize
at night, nothing to do to ease the choke
of too-excited nerves except to curve
your toes and let it happen

just as a star
happens when it’s done hiding in the swerve
of dissipating clouds and charges spar.

I like it. At lightning’s eleventh hour,
I be like, Damn, Virgo. Is this your jam?
Making umbra a better choice than bower
inside a thunder sky’s most clever scam?
It’s nothing like a dome. There is no shelter.

I be like, Teach me what it’s like to burn
in all the vapors, how to never swelter
so hot your core turns into iron’s churn
and boil. Show me where you hide your blood.

One time I told someone I saw the Big
Dipper but didn’t. Boötes and cud,
but didn’t. Sagitta was in a twig.  

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