RACHEL FOGARTY

SHE SAYS, A GIRL

again
while cells divide their breath into stays
again
the epidural trills a song
for I have not wintered
again
salt particle by salt particle
again, she says
again
I am all itch
the stomach starved
again

a girl
spoon-keeping
for five days, without sleep, again,

for a girl, I ask
the month
to appear, again

I anoint each pulse with semen and ash,
again,
I beg myself hoarse
to be a girl who births & spoons

AN UNFINISHED SONNET:

… dew-light cups the breast of the Red Junglefowl. Fire
wattles as big as a summer hotel—full—conspire
he drips scent & seed with tidbitting dance. This lark
of ceremony bend the hens wanting. Spark
& fever rise like hot through a leaky window, his comb coal-
esces . And next, the flowers. The fruiting hole
of honeysuckle, the mums—bell-shaped petals
mad with wet—the twining vine of jasmine, & metal
blue plumbago. A warning. Finger the cuttings slow, free
sia shatters. Forget-me-nots wilt. Later, the fig tree
of evening sets and the rooster perches. He burns
a last cricket down his throat. The favored hen returns
to brood eggs, clutches a neat blade of grass. XXXXXX
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Rachel Fogarty has been financially supported by the Hampton Arts Management Grant and the Thomas E. Sanders Scholarship in Creative Writing Award. She teaches Creative Writing and English at Pasco-Hernando State College. Her poems and new media poetic pieces have appeared in numerous journals and presses such as Tupelo 30/30 Project, White Space Poetry Anthology and extract(s). Her chapbook “Eaten by Butterflies” was published in 2014 by Dancing Girl Press.

Andrew Abbott (born 1979) resides in Portland Maine. He uses pink duct tape to draw pictures around the town. He can be found easily on Facebook.