For wanting to housecreation’s smithyher body shedsmolder and slag.Upon conceptionthe exit shut, the forgeflared with someone elsebehind the bellows.She’s a single-room Ritzremodeled as workshopfor a first, worsttenant: an amateuranatomist, an experimentalwelder. She can feelthe stoked fires, can feelclumsy fluttersof fledgling hammers,an artist of the avant-gardewith technique calledburgeon, an ongoinginstallation shapingitself from sausage,kraut, and ketchup.Such genius requiresits own space, she assuresherself, who was oncea sledge of genesbelow a sternum. [End Page 57]
david thacker’s poems have appeared in Ploughshares, The Cortland Review, The Massachusetts Review, and elsewhere. He is pursuing a PhD in poetry at Florida State University.