poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Sunday, June 19, 2011

After Making Ecstatic

1
After flight I am always wakeful;
After flowering/ delicious;
After gardens I am fence-lines, tree-songs, bird-paths.

After rain/ always ice cream.
After making ecstatic love/ poetry.

And yet/ nest.
And yet/ soil.
And yet/ the sky.
And yet/ ice cream.

2
If the ocean is the voice of the Earth,
then here is how humankind attempts

a tree: heart.
Fire makes clear the possibility

for a foundation, establishes red while orange gestates new
and the heart roots through

as the sun digests, all yellow./ If we make armroots and legroots
if breath is carried from the lungroots to the bloodroots,

if my head is all purple eyes and white cloudy cauliflower brain,
if the heart roots entirely throughout the body,

then/ here
then/ now
then/ you
then/ me.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Red in Tornado Times

1
Bourbon is a dull light in the murk of my blood. Bourbon is rain
on the flat, waxy leaves of the tropical trees in Kentucky.
After a storm, bourbon steams through the streets.
During sex, beer listens behind a door
and bourbon is the old quilt, rumored
to have your great-grandmother's wedding dress lace
faded to shreds somewhere, and a square
of her bridesmaid's red as well.
Bourbon makes me drunk behind my eyes.
Beer makes me drunk in front of my face
and leaning into its darkness.
Ten years it lives in that barrel, turning brown
with sap, with bark
--flavors taken from breaking down--
into sugar, into fire
into hot sparks of red flare in my mouth.

2
Red cardinal on dun colored dead leaves.
White opossum noses through the downed
trees, rat-tailed but sniffing like a kitten. A rabbit hops a swath
through, just a visible cotton tail and then gone,
the opossum takes this as a trail
and the cardinal hops in the opposite direction, witness
their homeless behaviors, this will continue until a new index is made
step by step and smell by smell, until the forest is readable again.
Home is nothing like yesterday
much more like tomorrow.