Dana Jaye Cadman

 
Air

Autumns, though entirely a grey filter
might overlay the fire glamour of the trees,
the summer is still out in a tin on the stove
to cool, all hot vapor and sweetness

Now, the woman is a woman
and the fall is too bright
and she's inside surrounded by
fish tanks and hoses and things that shine

and dozens of paper strips to test
for acids in the water
many many alchemy bottles
to make bacteria thrive

and the air outside
and the air in the living room is wet

Fish suffocate so easily
and fade their golds under stress
hers sleep on the tankbottom worrying her
with their anxious breaths

 
Knob

Naked. My belly
is some testament
to no-god. I found
my holy by accident.
Insomniac, I couldn’t
sleep and lulled
myself into dream
only body. I found me.
It was dark down
there. And wet.
Like the doorway
to a basement.