.................................
simmered nepenthe (four poems)
still
.................................

galatea woke in my place today and
stretched for her sculptor and his tools. and
i wound parts of me around my fingers until
we dropped. as if i were so malleable
to lose so soon.

galatea smiles from my mirror -- having
taken my breakfast with too much milk
and washed my hair all wrong. the milk
curdles in my stomach and
i feel real.

when i am made of stone not clay
i find what i need. she hides in a closet
full of his art and my too many shoes. and when
he comes calling he brings his chisel.

she smiles when i cry as he pulls the pebbles
from my tears and nods at what he
has made, smiles, and is finished.
he kisses my lips.

and i am alive.

 
.................................
simmered nepenthe (four poems)
artemis
.................................

in a few weeks i'll wear black. climb
the town then claim the woods. crouch and
observe.

watch the sinew rampant in the breeze -- floss
on a line after a kill. achilles was never
so proud. so undetected and yet so void
of glory. success.

and naked strength in that selfsame breeze (all
quivers and hair) i am bare -- nimble toes all
crisp on an autumn-blackened trail.

ideals are stealth. a sure shot -- i pierce
the hourglass and even morpheus stiffens. gray
thwarts the sky with wisps. and in a few weeks

the soot will clear from bones. gloved.
careful. i transcribe experience. and
dress. i know black.
i know.

 
.................................
simmered nepenthe (four poems)
something too somber for me
.................................

just a shadow, he is more naked now than at
morning. in my mirror i see homonyms -- we lack
another year, another tense. i blush alone now
and it shows on the walls like hues through dark.

i remember his black hair sifted by the wind
and the rare smiles. the sex in his eyes.

anniversary candles dance flames on silent walls. now
and then i lapse into belief but snap back soon and
he pales. hiss say the flames. they are experts --
kisses best left behind. and tonight it's this
cold in the dark.

 
.................................
simmered nepenthe (four poems)
patchwork
.................................

he's probably going to walk the dog
today. gonna gather selfhood in the woods.
i think the rain reddens his face
and hair. i'm sewing a quilt out of
pieced what and evers -- rusted change
i've stolen from his pockets. i put
lace on the edges and call him mine.

we talk occasionally maybe. leaves
turn and i'm left bare. please --
will he brush my hair after the rain
and call it his? give me the dog and
his leash. i step over dead trees.
once i liked the woods.

once he liked my hair. i washed his
until he smelled like me. he ran with
dogs -- with face to the rain. i held
too much trust in needles and thread --
slowly give him back his change in pieces.
sticks. remnant stumps and floating logs.
i am brushfires seething red. i'd
burn somewhere besides my heart -- but
he'd rather trample on bedraggled. he's
part cold part wet and out of change.

today the dog ran home to me. stick
bedecked with tattered lace. we
played fetch and remembered rust.

.................................
Heather L. Igert
.................................

 
Copyright © Heather L. Igert
May 1996

...five sonnets in this room by Karen Tellefsen...
i lie in an autumn pile of your kisses
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