by Jacque Davis
Breakfast
Weather of sorrows sluiced out
amongst cabbage palms, washing
sand white, the place within the bone,
sinews of wind taut amongst pines,
the shaggy crowns of palmetto
unbowed by supplication or day,
burnished, heavy as bronze or cries of gulls,
we alternate with insomnia, we turn
from sleep as egg cracks into skillet,
smoking mirror of necessity.
Our names never appear in cartography of lace,
or ruffled edges of cutting that healed into a glyph
of stone and feather, we are strangers in the mother tongue.
Coiled in uncanny definitions, insomnia is the cloak of day,
if we do not sleep, we do not dream,
if we do not dream we are but birdsong
in the mouth of wind, ash blown out to sea,
rendered nameless by heavy hands of habitation,
nomadic, another revelation of marrow
cracked open to sky, a burning not yet consumed.
To remain visible requires intention, you fill my pockets with shells
as black skimmers unstitch wind,
what we have been given lies on the back of a long wave
rolling out of the Gulf, as clouds shade mangrove,
spoonbill stand incandescent, ruffled fragments of sunrise,
when you stand behind me at the stove, skillet shimmering,
your hands on my belly, saying the small words heavier than sea,
breathing my name, breathing like waves,
fetch is the distance between thought and tongue,
circumference is the measure of your embrace.
When you sleep without pain
Light lies dusty
in the road, as mourning doves
summon sunrise, still a spilled candle
smoking on the horizon,
so many small birds
flower in our mouths,
a wind of railroad vine
blanket flower rattles cabbage palms.
Sky empty as lightning whelks
sun bleached, sands
gathered, poured
into jars, azure hammered
thin as foil, moon
of broken sand dollar
dim, distant.
Day gathers momentum,
you hold this form as if warmth
was a garment shared between us
as if pain was not stitched
into your breathing
as if today implies tomorrow
or conch held the sound of sea,
always the sea, each wave a text
song unfolded from hands
taking flight then vanishing
tide abandons creek
tide abandons mangrove
we stand derelict, waterless,
darkness of eyes, darkness of clouds
flowing off the Gulf,
lamps will not light this place
as cerulean yields to burgundy
as night folds us into velvet,
when we sleep
you sometimes hold my hand
as if to keep me from floating
away on a current felt but unseen,
sometimes the simplest touch
is all we have,
the smallest flower
all the vine can sustain
the smallest word
uttered in darkness.
Peach Delphine is from Tampa, Florida. Former cook, infatuated with the undeveloped Gulf coast. Can be found on Twitter @PeachDelphine.
Jacque Davis creates art from her home studio in Southern Illinois. Her longtime love of color, texture and stitch is evident in her richly colored and densely stitched art. She is inspired by nature and the evocative language of dreams. Her work can be seen at jacquedavis.com