Love Poem with Eyebrow

Like any woman, deep rivers
of passion meet between her eyes.
At the point where the hairs touch,
hot rivers, heated by a patient sleep,

will wait, if need be, for as long
as it takes this jungle to become
our familiar country.  She bleeds
from thorns that cut her neck.

The necklace is broken.  A dead hummingbird
will bring her luck, bring her love.
Here, the flowers become dragonflies,
butterflies, a brooch to wear.  Maybe

she’s a warrior, a sweet Christ
who dies an uncommon lover.
Her spider monkey won’t pray with her,
too busy thinking.  But the cat

survives—haunches down behind
her shoulder—against the wall of leaves,
full-veined, that carry life
into some strong, forgotten place.
 

Copyright 1998, Sam Rasnake
 

Sam Rasnake's work has appeared in Literal Latté and Poet's Attic Quarterly.  This spring, a collection, Necessary Motions, was published by Sow's Ear Press, and a chapbook, Religions of the Blood, by Pudding House.

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