A doll to the sea cockleshells deep in the weeds water brings inward.
To make a home, to have it be so all things lined pictorial—she
bridesmaids her locks, turns brown under sun. Bed to fro, shifts into
cattle lowing morning her rooster face shock, head nodding
rock & roll the moon frieze. Come out of the boxes you rake your feet
in the sand make it holy—I thought holy every time I take it into
my chest my belly tightens remembering. We knelt in prayer, it turned
into a reclining. If you put your feet all over the earth drain
the water mara, think holes loosen the very cumber of your strain
says a horse is there: call it fast from the fence as though I must
have him come back to me. Should he lope, train him faster
for a thing needs a compromise duly, & to learn again I’ve had to.
Brazen & flow, fast now, mount & the trees that will turn amber in
the weathering—where will you be when the trees. Flamboyant a little tryst
for tomorrow, do not get your belly’s worth. From inside the line
called your next decade mama’s girl older odder how my hands shave
every piece of hair off my body sans my head. I need of my head for
favors, my fill to ladle the day, as in early this day & dark his trigger finger.
Born in rural southern Georgia, Shelly Taylor resides in Tucson. She is the author of Black-Eyed Heifer (Tarpaulin Sky Press: 2010) & four chapbooks: Peaches the yes-girl (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs: 2008), Land Wide to Get a Hold Lost In (Dancing Girl Press: 2009), Dirt City Lions (Horse Less Press: 2012), & the forthcoming, The Doldrums (Goodmorning Menagerie: 2013).