I

I am daily born and like manna
from the sky, rain down from a thundercloud;
I am dulcet blood of the virgin, the accidental spill;
the heart in the throat, the heart out of its cavity;
the chest a mocking hole, the dress mocking birth.
I snip my vein to hold my own;
I spill my blood; I bare the pain.
Jagged and messy behind the white bloom
that surrounds me, the frill that encloses.
Brilliant silence, brown to the bone.

II

Give me clay and I'll chew it.
Give me the serpent and I'll subdue it.
My heart is whole, watch it blossom.
No chest contains it, red breath pure.
These hands, watch how steady,
nothing will deter them.
Wild pelvic upturned, ground heels down flat.
Take leche at my breast, forget your deaths.
By eyebrow might, by embalm,
by coptic jar, I will keep you still.  

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Ann is a Pushcart Prize nominee whose poems appear in Dead Mule, Blue Fifth Review, Lily, Triplopia, HLFQ and a few other places. She is a former journalist and magazine editor living in Florida. Visit her blog, The Red Hibiscus, or her website for more of her writing.
Website: http://home.earthlink.net/~tang1002/floridaworks/
Blog: http://theredhibiscus.blogspirit.com/
 

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