Research: Journals
The Journal
Past Issues
28.2
Christopher Davis
ProgressNever was a woman so utterly abandoned to pleasure
as your mother. Often, as theater, she would spread
herself out, and would sprinkle rice over her private
parts, and trained geese would peck grains off, one
by one, in proud view of her people.
Sopranos sounded like her, grieving.
Shrieking metal discharges a robin, a red tracer,
into evening, tinting purple pinker. Quiet: hear
her happy, crying in the wild, blurry green out here,
lively, chirping, sipping the clear whine of our tears.
