07 Mar Chanelle A Bergeron
FUNAMBULISM
please forgive me
while i dip
you in butter
soften your fur
to the degree of
the moon pouting
sodden with rain
my scales are catching
flecks of river water
in their crevices
which is how i know it
will snow soon
& which is how i know
that the river
will become crusted
in chantilly, torchon, binche
the tatting
of expert fingers
the glaze
of winter-breath
freezing everything over
& you are
a swan feather
& you are
a lathe
& you are
a tightrope walker
feet flattened to the rope
your arms folded,
grabbing onto the clavicles
a fountain gushing
spraying you from below
the moss is ours
our meeting place
(it always has been)
& the sunlight
is what remains
& the rain
which settles on
our eyelashes,
the reason we came here
to begin with
please forgive me
while i dip
you in butter
silently & veiled
in the fog-dust
tugging at our elbows
turning us to ribbon
with nothing but sky
for miles beneath it
LITTLE MY
i put my hand
on the back of your head
because you must rest
before your travels
before you leave
like a little dove
like a little dove
when the moon is hollow
we are sisters in the dawn
while the mist is still
lingering between branches
we chase water
rub our cheeks with silt
& fill our shoes with acorns
i call you a cocoon,
ready to unravel
you call me, bloodroot
dreaming of vascular shadows
put your head into my palm,
i will carry you
like a wooden boat
to the water
let you loose in the water
comb what remains of
your hair into oars &
watch as the liquid
ripples itself around you
we are sisters in the morning
tailbones touching
the edge of a river
hands clasped & fallow
chanelle a bergeron currently resides under the spanish moss in savannah/georgia. she works with energetic medicine, assists with a local midwife, & makes improvised, elemental sound-collage under the name of mille. in between all these things, she writes poems like these. you can reach her at moonbymoon@riseup.net.
