Equivocal Cartagraphies


I knit her con­tent­ly
I knit her com­mon­place.

I knit her com­plete­ly
I knit her dis­crete­ly.
A cradle or a coffin?
it’s just a place to
store our things.

She was tucked in neat­ly
between a Tijua­na cat­call
and my lust for the night
                                her words
were water drops
in a vacant tub
they echoed soft
the world’s thinnest drum.

I knit her sub­lime­ly
I knit her soul­ful.

adapt­ed from The Colour of Mir­ror, 2012

woven neat­ly · woven unique­ly · on a branch or an arm · no shells just chrysal­is. saline trans­for­ma­tion · salt of the earth · of the sea · of the stone we scat­ter from beneath. sil­ver thread thick as wool · woven del­i­cate and art­ful. some­times it is the hair we hide beneath · rebirth is declut­ter­ing one’s desk or shav­ing one’s legs. chrysal­is is clean. chrysal­is or coffin and i know that i am claus­tro­pho­bic · so which could i choose. deviant sprite­ly inner-self · turn­ing inward only to burst out­ward. not but­ter­flies in my stom­ach but fire­works that fiz­zle long after the explode.