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To live is to know

And yet never know


If you measure from here 

To your beginning

The exact instance is always 

Slightly off 

Don’t think about it too deeply

Instead rub your organs

Against time 

Like the palm of a woman 

Across her belly 


Your belly

Not because they told you it can help

But because you should love 

A face like polished glass

That finds you 


An attempt at a hand 

Because you can 

Make logic  

Of your hand

Make a cracked bloom of your 


Take your voice and turn it 

Into a fiery 

Creek river 

Now make it five 

Thousand years spent 

On an oceanic table 

A kindly 

Walk through the fox-heads

In the morning 


A leafless face

Singed moth 


Sheet of paper 

Make arms and legs and dissonance 

Possible in the miniature 

You are a Creator

Who can pleat her legs

Tell yourself you are better 

For this 


Convince yourself that you are

Like the other animals

Of a certain species

And sentimentality 

Convince yourself that you will photograph 

Holding your heft like a prized calf 

At the state fair in August 

Convince yourself you too will take to 

Documenting the disarming stages

Of an eyeless pupa 

That you

Will thoroughly love white horses

Picture windows 


Sea minerals 


Your stream is right

Figs and watercress make a tablescape of beauty

Believe it so 

Very deeply 

That this one aptitude  

Carrying around wet elixir 

Is isolated

When they congratulate you 

On your inflated melon

Anguished balloon

Say thank you for your


That someone is like you 

Is everyone

All at once and 


Let them fill your hole 



In a flock of irises 

A herd of ankles 

The pang of basic 

Laws of Nature

You are

Statistical recurrence

Become one of them

Then become them 

In your ratted eyes and oversized onesie


Mammoth Human of a Unitard 

You my dear have won 


Dripping in their suburban viscosity 

The simple shrubbery of 

Their palms 

Your tongue will soon lick tablecloths printed

With chrysanthemums 

Your feet emerging as fine cuts 

Of leather

Lucky lucky 



Skin of Orange Trim

Left Eye of 

Matching Tumbler

You can wash your hair two times a day 

From a mythical river of un 

Digested food 

Hold yourself up like despair 

In the shower

Wishing for endless menthols 

And glasses of bourbon 

In the sun 

To crush your sadness

Go to the turn 

Run to the sea

Nullify your productivity 

Stand outside the deserted hotel  

Believe in God

Wing His deliberation  

Polish your finely ribbed teeth

Act like a vintner’s daughter 

Troll the dying woman

Copy and paste

Buy the $500 quartz

Wear max color 

Weep beside the moon

Make a pilgrimage to a medieval castle

Confound history

Partially complete a crossword puzzle 

Crawl on your knees in the desert

Threaten a medical professional  

Take tea in bed 

Act something Grecian

When I say Grecian I mean 

Rip open your breast for public use

Heart a picture of a palm tree 

Let money tell you where to go 

Call it indecision 

Photograph the sunrise

To remember sunrise 

Plate your lips with fuchsia 

Arrive in Spring

Fix upon the room 

Curtain the sky 

Burn through like your mother

And her mothers’ mother 

Skip among the brambles

Tremble weirdly in the meadow 

Squat on a fat poppy 

Steep in the grass

Like a maiden 

Your skin is surely jerking you  

Into cleanliness   


You are warmly and pink 

With child 

You are not a murderess

You are not Mary Ann Cotton 

Lizzie Borden 

Not even Jodi Arias 

You are so full of water and folic acid 

You are becoming more

Than jowls without interruption 

In fact you are Chosen 

Holy Holy Holy 

Blessed Inventory

Touch the Greatness of Your Being


Touch the angled 

Flutter between your legs 

The bulbous cramp of a 


Hold the paper rib of your little woman 

And feel Predetermined   


Is Everyday Elevated

You are 

Pear-Like Elocution 

You are inside  

A freshly stitch of tinsel 

A cream cake before the big party 

The underside 

Of Jesus 

Cultivate the glow of a full moon in

Sagittarius on a Saturday night in April

And remember it is no longer April 

The air is hot and the cottonwood is spiraling like ash 

And pirating the lawn into whiteness 

And the peonies are full

As full as bosoms

And there are thick purple areola

Raised little bumps of atmosphere

And the green is all around quieting a bed

and there is a smell of death

Of old deer among the crows and within the grass and there 

Is the grass and its washing through you and there is you 

And you try to run to be free to feel and enclosed 

Is like a spectacular wreckage

Your belly and its tired calamity

Stamina appendaging

Syllables boned and deboning 

Feet stringed in silk meat

Or else gums

Or otherwise teeth

And there are names for this wreckage 

For your dissolving light

List of names

On napkins

In text

Under a floating fish in a paperweight 

Names of German derivation Norwegian root 

Warrior Princess Goddess 

Sanskrit love Creek benediction Slavic 

Butter Beautiful Happy Industrious Radiant Radiant Industrious Blessed Noble

Honorable Majestic Exalted Radiant Happy Beautiful

And there are your thoughts of all the people who think 

They can will a form into beauty and 

There are your thoughts of how 

You just want to live alone in the failed red of summer 

And how it is summer and and soon 

There will be Turkish towels and soon slivers of cheese 

And there will be paring knives and halved fruit and screen doors edged in color 

And soon cold beer and salami and quarries and crinkled linen muslin 

And soon red skin to peel and cherries from the side of the road 

Red cherries so warm as to burst in anger and soon 


And jumping and water and disappearing through 

And then inevitably there will be  

A great sanitarium of happy explosives

When people find you

To tell you 















Into uselessness 

Look for their jingoistic happiness

Look for their peppering hatchwork 

Look for their their wild sky

The mucked-up axiom of night 

And brim 

With the growing inside you

The tar and sputter and heat

Mercurial eye 

An eye watching 



Ask for Its



For her narrow 


That sip of beer 

The one piece of glistening 

Deli meat 

You place solemnly at 

The feet of her altar

Ask Her to forgive 

As much as can be forgiven 

Forgive the sin of this planetary weight 

Forgive the heat of light stabbing

Forgive the cuts between the trees

Their mathematics 

Their falling  

Forgive the field mouse running across the floor

That you don’t have a broom to sweep it 

Forgive the redbird trapped in the attic  

The one you chase deliciously with a hammer 

Forgive the fantastic horns of your cry trough winter 

Forgive your old employers

Your boss

And his boss 

Forgive your sad father

Forgive your shock of nerves

That dance in you as embarrassment

Forgive your most northern extremity

The one you touch from the far side of the bed

Forgive your want for a bodysuit 


Excess sugar

Expensive light 

Sucking in the drum of your stomach 

Then have Her forgive the doctors 

They know not what they say

Making you feel like a woman 

Stuffing her mouth

With money  





A piece of fired clay buzzing thick with fruit flies

Hungry not with the latitude to be 




To have been 

Powerful and Battery-


A mother so 

Frighteningly discreet 

As to slip into spill-proof suction

A brilliant space-saving body 

That clips into anywhere

Not the wild erring

Of you


Who drapes her Saturnalian body 

For the pharmacy 

To collect her 30


You who

Pricks the bulbs of her fingers

Filling their tragic pits  

With sticky tissue

You who 

Unknowingly carved a hole like relief

Mixed blood and estrogen in its mortar 

Freed water

Yielded seed

Made firmament in the midst

Brought forth the Grass 

And Herb 

And hallowed it 

Said let there be 

A creeping thing

Let there be


On the third day

And there was

The dimensionality of a gill

Then a second 

Lobe of pearl 

Hook of limb

Picket of pink





Immaculate Billow

Woman Mother


Who only ever wanted



To become the ground 

To know the great

Flood of it 


Stevie Belchak is a poet and writer living in Key West, FL. She is the author of The State of My Undress (o-blek) and her writing can be found in the Denver Quarterly, SARKA, Third Coast, and blush lit–among others. A new mom, Stevie is now sharing big motherly feelings via her substack Mother Of.