after Anne Carson
To straighten, to rise. The host: star-flower. The sound
is there. Throat upturned. Everything looks new
& sad for a thousand years, burning, dark, alive, its
Rosesudden pulse. My girlhood still in flowers, but you—
limb-loosener, stirs me run fluttering, unleashed. Useless bark,
loving and loved. Having been strained, poured over.
Now & again: hello.
The boy stood on the burning deck, inside: seventeen. He took
the clothes on your backs. A daughter is a summer, is a month
of small somethings. Who is a bird, is a bird, is a flame
Eve Kenneally (from Boston by way of DC) is a recent alumna of the MFA program at the University of Montana. Her chapbook, Something Else Entirely, will be released by Dancing Girl Press in 2016. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Yemassee, Parcel, decomP, Star 82 Review, Blue MondayReview, and elsewhere. Find her on Twitter @eveveve418.