Rosemarie Crisafi The 2River View, 8.4 (Summer 2004)
A New World

A wave.a puff of air.a wet girl
Soapy from bathwater
Rushed past the mirror. A belt unbuckled,
A slap, signs to go to ground.
To curl and cover, become unborn.
Standing, you would be blown away.
Daylight curved
As the massive wall advanced,
Shutters flew open,
Tires ruptured.
Hubcaps blew in the driveway.
A teakettle screamed.
Wires kinked; circuits hissed behind sheetrock.
Dark spots burned into the vitreous humor.
Plums pitted in the hollows of eyes.
Counter clicked rapidly.
On the spool, film uncoiled, colors fled
Tape reeled. In this movie,
She lay under the earth as it changed.
She watched herself as it died.
The yellow bathroom glowed.
Luminous tiles dissolved into prisms
Through which to see a new world.

On her insensible face, he planted his roses.
Soft halos blushed, encircled deeper organs,
Bound by outer rings of jade.
Outmost green enclosed to shield them from harm.
A corolla loosened. Burgundy burst into small leaves.
Crushed, buds abandoned blooms.
Petals fell. A ghost rose.

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