Your skin is translucent in the still air of this room.
Clay is prerogative; eyes are derivative.
We live in the shadows of immense hands
like death that will take our sex away.
Bridal days and wedding nights of grace and youth
and doors opening in women.
Music is a child of the grass
and teaches us the cost of frostbite.
We can’t separate the misunderstandings
or wash dishes in the music-box.
We talk too much and spend the word on our burning hands.
A cinder of a joke catches in our throat
and you laugh to hold onto the hurrying waters.
A fern is a fan that resembles a rainbow
and the last ghosts of Indians are asking for food
in the amber waves of dying grain.
About the AuthorDaniela Gioseffi is an American Book Award winning author who has published ten books of poetry and prose. She has published in The Paris Review, The Nation, Chelsea, Choice, Ms., Poetry East, Prairie Schooner, and Antaeus. She edits Wise Women’s Web, now http://www.PoetsUSA.com, nominated for Best of the Web, 1998. Daniela is author of WOMEN ON WAR: International Voices for the Nuclear Age , the Feminist Press, 2002, and ON Prejudice: A Global Perspective, Anchor/Doubleday, 1993.
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