Phloem Poem
- Phloem Poem
Down
Blood honey,I see you are juicing.Now you know that I am too.I am juicing and waxingFrom toe to skull;I am shivering in the dew.Your name is the god of a red coyoteWhispering no, yes, no,Into a microphone.In a wash of silence,Your name comes to me.In the singular moment of washingMy tongue taps its modulesTo speak of my radiant, yellow teeth.Together we utter phloem, phloem, phloem,And behold, your name comes.
Up
With strength she can’t possibly ownDog pulls me toward the corner of WestVolunteer and VeteranAt six o’clock in the morning.Earth is pinned by starry hoarfrostAnd dozy plant sex as we come toThe soot-black gnarlyhedgeWhere the hooded thrushes huddleTo forestall April’s crisp.Their hush, their never-white eyesNo kismet for us, [End Page 49] Suck us forth like some blackness.And for this the dog burns, glimpsingThe Singular Kingbird. The birds performTheir school-of-fish evacuation,Bursting from the shadowbrainOf the marlybone tree, which hasA given name that I don’t know.The Marylebone tree maybe,On the morning cornerOf Minnesota’s gone soldiers. [End Page 50]
luke daly lives in Buffalo with his wife and daughters. He teaches writing and literature classes at Villa Maria College of Buffalo. His work has appeared in Architrave Press, Basalt, Comstock Review, and Cream City Review.
