Glottal Stop
everything good
is in the things
that we don't say
if we were sculptures
in a gallery
it would be the elegant
space between them
carved by their marble arms
the moment after the scratch
when the match
flickers but doesn't yet
burst into flame
the tightening in the air
as the black hand
clicks to the minute
before
the minute
when the recess bell
is going to ring
if there were two birds
singing in two trees
it would be
the moment
when they both paused
not to take in air
but because it was
the right place
in both of their songs
to pause
the
glottal
stop
]]>The Woodcutter’s Wife
Is Gretel happy?
Why does she run from me into the trees?
Why does she stare at her feet?
Why does she chew her braids?
Why does she cut herself with sticks, at night, and the blankets
are spotted dark and I wash and I wash?
Why does she try to clean herself with leaves?
What is to be done with Hansel?
Why does he hide my paring knife?
Why does he fill my shoes with stones?
Why does he sit on my lap, now at 12, and stroke my cheek
and twist my hair?
Why does his skin always smell though I use my best lye?
Why does he steal his sister’s bread?
Husband, dearest, where do you go?
How far do you roam to look for wood?
Why has your axe blade grown dull?
Why do you return home after dark and bring home the silence of the forest in your eyes?
Why do you ask if I’d like meat, perhaps a fat ham, when you know
I could live on your love?
Why do you furrow and gnaw at your knuckles?
And what do you see out the window?
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