Katrinka Moore
from Numa
branch of a cedar, waxwings
nest-build—twigs, grass, fluff—
send down whistles & flickers
of light to the sleeper, who
opens
                                                            her eyes. A shadow crosses    as
                                                                                                         one bird dives     snatches a tangle
                                                                                                         of shed fur     & flies up, zigzagging
                                                                                                         between leaves. Touching
                                                                                                         nothing.
Numa moves through the forest four-legged but wings
flap close to her temples. Slows beneath river-bottom
pines. Winds her way around sticky trunks.
               Clears a circle     sweeps away needles     digs a fox hole.
                              (birds she’s eaten     crunching
                              tiny bones     spitting out the beak     texture
                              of claws)
                                                            Begins by rolling into
                                                            an egg-shape, growing
                                                            a shell.
Katrinka Moore is the author of Thief (BlazeVOX) and This is Not a Story (Finishing Line Press). Recent poems appear in 5_Trope, Web Del Sol, CLWN WR, Georgetown Review, and Far Out Further Out Out of Sight. The poems from Numa are part of a series about a shape shifting creature.
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from Numa
However you imagine her, asleep
she folds in on herself fawn-like, puma
tail stretched to her chin.
On a high
branch of a cedar, waxwings
nest-build—twigs, grass, fluff—
send down whistles & flickers
of light to the sleeper, who
opens
                                                            her eyes. A shadow crosses    as
                                                                                                         one bird dives     snatches a tangle
                                                                                                         of shed fur     & flies up, zigzagging
                                                                                                         between leaves. Touching
                                                                                                         nothing.
turns her head to the left / turns
it to the right / lifts chin, glances
up / pivots to see behind / lines
radiate out in / infinite number / arrows’
tips so distant no one knows / no
front   down   back   up / field
of directions leaving south east
west north in the dust
Numa moves through the forest four-legged but wings
flap close to her temples. Slows beneath river-bottom
pines. Winds her way around sticky trunks.
               Clears a circle     sweeps away needles     digs a fox hole.
                              (birds she’s eaten     crunching
                              tiny bones     spitting out the beak     texture
                              of claws)
                                                            Begins by rolling into
                                                            an egg-shape, growing
                                                            a shell.
/ Bird’s head on
a young girl’s
body / feathery
crest, yellow-
tipped / thin fast
legs beneath
gym shorts hop-
ping from one
foot to the
other / a berry
in her hand /
Katrinka Moore is the author of Thief (BlazeVOX) and This is Not a Story (Finishing Line Press). Recent poems appear in 5_Trope, Web Del Sol, CLWN WR, Georgetown Review, and Far Out Further Out Out of Sight. The poems from Numa are part of a series about a shape shifting creature.
1 Comments:
The rhythm and imagery just entranced me. Beautiful and great work!
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