Empire - Poem

This poem was published in Gargoyle in Winter of 2009. "Empire" the sun carved in wood setting or rising I venture no guess This is the dream of rest : red shanked locust covered in ants and the feeling that the rain is still thick or that standing only accomplishes long shadows this tree and its essential leaves like sickles we never broke the cream’s surface just stood the evening vesper sparrow calling us to congregate But there is the forgotten science of grafting the windowed woman her lips bent in tendons like the fig tree’s above the midday sewing machine her mind in wedlock to the idea of thirst two priests knock at the back door they say to her “it is clear they were arsoned from within” she answers “this white rectangle door comes often to me in dreams written above the latch : let the house stay barren for now” they say “we arrived home just as the sirens began I know one day we will evacuate I hope it is neither soon nor far she says “sewing This is the angle of my arms I think to make a flag” they say “yes it is a flag” though they think it is a skull