Bridget Meeds/ 2 Poems
In The New World
Your mother will not protect you.
The names of flowers are currency.
You are the baby of the bathwater.
You are the underground daughter.
The earth weeps glistening muck.
Braids are the sought riddle.
It is time to forsake the girdle.
The geese are flying in circles.
You will live in the belly of a cello.
You will sleep without a pillow.
Come to this place of no history.
Name this scent and shape.
'Hey, how's it hangin'
sleep-deprived scientists sing
wistfully a woman walks
lipsticked and lovely rats are lonely
caged and kept from activist caution
the sky is sodden people speak
only at night never at noon
'dude, she dumped that dork
come to Dunbar's and down some drafts'
a willet waves its tagged wing
sleet sheets ice from the sky
bright and mean men mention
grants and grumble give awards
the telephone its tongue talks
keeping company with the crying woman
sobs soundlessly on the screen
'coffee? can't it's the caffeine
but a bottle of snapple and a bagel
is o.k. arrive at eight'
in the laundromat lovers lace fingers
together touching over teal sheets
washers whirl wishlessly cleaning
blessed are the bakeries buses are cursed
in language long remembered in libraries
solely in binary some speak
the weatherman warns of wet
promises snow and sleet soon
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