Other Clues writing samples
Three pomegranates left on the tree, cracked, dribble knots of glassine kernels rich as late November’s leftover sunlight. Willows stream-side will-lessly release their last yellow leaves. I think of the way winter forces the stripped willow withes to burnish nakedness to the same drenched red as these kernels pulling my hand to harvest. No lean fashion statement, but a calamity of overblown color, heat of my lover’s skin, my ardent yes.
“Keep this, don’t keep that.” I sort through shelves of past experience, hoping for a future. Notice has been served, what supports me has to shift. Change the minutiae in my dreams. Venom I’ve milked and admired ’til my wires are corroded. Where to find a healthy urge to love without calculating the return? The acupuncturist reads my pulses, says, “Your liver’s inflamed, you dwell in gall’s region. I’m not one to tell you what to do, assuming you’re here to improve, inhale mint and rub it….”
Once I was given rapture, I’ve been tracking it down ever since, but these deserts get in the way. Some arroyo, some flash flood, please. I’ll leave my liver cruising through the mesquite, the cleansing aroma. Write it down on a tablet, every bitter thing I’ve tossed. Become a humiliated mendicant.