Three new poems at Body

Cynthia Cruz


The boat of death moves soundlessly
Across the room.
Then the terrible gift:
The white veils lowering
Slowly before me.
A lifetime inside the killing,
And sweet
Darkness, she
Loved me so much: kissing
The glimmering
Hive of my mind, finally quiet.



I go out. I come back.
I am practicing my words, again:
A bouquet of wilting flowers.
Feigning English, barely
American in my waistcoat and fur
Thunder boots.
Swoon, I say
And the swallows fall from their elm,
I said I wished I were
Drowned. But this time
Not just in dream.
The clock clicks, I sleep on.
I swim past the breakers—a radio
Song unfurling in my head.
Daddy, will I ever see you again.



You are beautiful in snow
Boots, your long hair, black
Electric, and chasing
Karen Carpenter’s Superstar
On the short wave radio.
What was I
For five years
And why
Let me drown in a dream
Of turning, snow
Globe in a child’s hand.
You waited five years
In a basement in the Cleveland
Suburbs before the same white
Wall, all sound and light
Snuffed out. Just a faint
Hum inside the infinite