Ekleksographia #2: Poems by Maya Pindyck

Cell

I raise my hands to your feet

To touch the smoke
To hold the fire
To move the quill

Clamatis, Destop, Ordine—

In the next cell
Books are cracked &
Emptied

The green and the green—

Your red hand rests on the beast
Held close to your heart

Facts for Women

This is your finger-stained blouse. This is how oil spreads a perfect circle from frill to frill. This is your rank Camembert breath. These are your teeth, covered in herbs. This is your stomach. It only seems an earthquake when men press too close. This is your hand, colder than bones. This is the accidental scrape of your nails upon your lover's cheek. This is your promise to yourself. This is the scent of Shalimar on your shoulders before walking into night. This is you taking, then taken away.

Pellucid

O no thing at once

hummed clear of all things—

O

single thought within a circle

in which you are the circle

drawn black

on Rosapina—

Make sure the room has been considered

and the basket rim

and the rice cake

laughing in the light.