in service of a ring



born in the zoo of teeth and skins,
mary harvests hands.

her tongue, quiet as a stone.
feet, tanned by fire and rock.
a cauldron hangs at her waist,
waiting for an unready meal
like a hatchling.

witches crawl from the flesh
of rest. today, flames sacrifice
wood to answer a belly’s demand.




as if answers were conclusions

to ask a weed why
it grows from a sidewalk
            crack
        is
   to
dress as a box for Halloween
and wonder why
the mirror resembles a person.

About the poet:

I am the current Editor of Lamplighter Review and in addition to winning the 2006 Chicago State University Hughes, Diop, Knight Literary Award I have poems appearing in recent or upcoming editions of Minglewood, Plain Spoke, Danse Macabre, CC & D, Oak Bend Review, Calliope Nerve, and Yellow Mama.