Leveler Poetry Journal
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In the Valley of Love and Delight

 

What wrenches the wren from the sky, startles the starling? The owl calls, omens coming in threes, the world lopsided as sausage, meat parts tunneling into the cave.

 

Like blowing into the straw’s wrapper, sticking our hands deep in the pillow case to make the corners fit.

 

Bubble travelling through the body of the snake, smaller, smaller, troubling up and gassy, logy with words. It feels wrong when the rooms are prinked out, corners sharp and dirty as cake.

 

Slotted deep in the crevasse—not temple or tenement—we can leap awhile as if we were flames, we can gaze intense at the blue without ever holding something firm enough to attach a keychain.

 

Something slides into the oven. Pant leg, glove finger. If a loaf could rise—or a moment. Sudden as an umbrella, trapped in its umbrella case.

 

The third point forms the peak of the tent or the hook where we hang our pants. Unleash it like a spyglass. Sweet as a sugar cube, salt as a lick. With lipstick.




Susan Grimm