Burn Fragment, and: Mounting
- Burn Fragment, and: Mounting
Burn Fragment
Still the flesh insists: thumbcap hard hat new little pileup of cells proud flesh mound uninflatedcrimson blister singed singing signaling pain but also the event of burning that I cannot rememberWhen: fresh new enough last night?How: dinner? What did did I we ohplates warmed over no flame no great heatHow can flesh remember what the mind has lost?One hand holds the other thumb over thumb tracing circlesand lines as though pacing to bring it backthrough the barrier splitting wound from its shaping moment shape from eventthat particular now from becoming a then his easy morning whisper: Candle— streams back last night’s power cut the matchflame climbing its short wooden routedull wick to thumb. I waited watched as it lit at both ends then water and water— [End Page 113]
Mounting
In order to risewithout assistanceit is best to facebackward, stirrup turnedto accommodate
your turn as you mount,starting by shoulder,back turned to danger(thick head of teeth, hoof,motion’s potential),
facing the haunches,and beyond, the past.Hitch the left leg, footanchored in stirruphigher than your waist,
clutch a hank of maneand reins with one hand,the saddle’s cantlewith the next, and turn,right leg now all spring,
a new beast bouncingon one leg (or five,you a mere danglingmass attached to thismonster silhouette),
bounce three times and leap—whirl through air to faceforward now, at lastseated, reins gathered.As easy as breath.
I’m not sure, years nowout of the saddle, [End Page 114] if I could still hikemy leg high, the footfinding its stirrup.
If so, would the looseleg remember howto bounce, or containthe power to raisemy body from ground
to wither, from pastto future, turning?Some nights I wakento find my left kneepressed against my chest,
the right one stretched long,reaching (the muscleschemically slackened)at times an unseenground, at others, sky,
perpetuallymidleap, toe pointed.Directionless. Thisposition comfortsas much as it aches. [End Page 115]
laurie clements lambeth is the author of the poetry collection Veil and Burn. Her poetry has most recently appeared in Poetry Magazine, Zocalo Public Square, and Nimrod, while her recent creative nonfiction has been published by Ecotone, the New York Times, and Crab Orchard Review. She teaches medical humanities courses at the University of Houston.
