d a n a    g u t h r i e    m a r t i n

XXVI. Adiposity

XXXII. Toward What Is Awful

XXXIII. The Account

XXVI. Adiposity

The disinterested call us dumb,
Luddites. By the hour, we bring them
ambrosia. They call this sanity
and say we are not immune.
We whisper that we will not suffer
them any longer. We place small
crucibles on the tops of our heads.
We purge all the fleeting possums.
We no longer find our sutures
tantalizing. When we menstruate,
we dematerialize with ease,
into dilute facts and a multitude
of labia. We gut what is abstract
and hold it to the light, as if reading
the day’s news in the sky. Under
our own hands, the contractions
have already begun. We have learned
to communicate through saliva.
This misery is hot, what passes
as love. We will not stop
until we are exquisite.
We make our way to the forest,
where we can be insoluble
and use our elbows.
O love, O miserable love,
propel us through our basal cells,
our stirrups.

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XXXII. Toward What Is Awful

We are contaminated, an influenza.
Alone and together go lax
under examination.
Who was the most curious
among us—the one who first
succumbed to the parasite
of curiosity? Mother,
father, we have been
too efficient. Forgive us.

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XXXIII. The Account

The most urgent among us
begin to pray. The crows come.
Hesper takes this as a sign.
No matter what we add
to the salt, we cannot dilute it.
Salt becomes a plaque
in our mouths. Some drink
their own urine. The ocean
goes wild with horses.
When we finally see the riders,
they are no longer men.
Ultimately, we will not remember
what brought us here.

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DANA GUTHRIE MARTIN and her partner live in the state of Washington. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous journals. Her chapbooks include The Spare Room (Blood Pudding Press, 2009) and In the Space Where I Was, forthcoming from Slack Buddha Press. She writes at My Gorgeous Somewhere.

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