Judith Roitman
Night
Oh pomegranate flower!
Oh eye like engines!
The machine saw me breathe
all hollow, like a fish breast.
Foot below, head above,
and even lower: the amoeba.
Half the night stands still and
standing still is respected.
How does this affect us
before quitting?
Wings play the leading role.
They don’t see anything.
Justice perceived as weapon of play.
You can’t say what goes around.
“Don’t bother the company.”
That was always her method.
You can’t perceive a line
if it has no right or left.
Mouth
Your river mouth.
Your cherry arms.
Your eye moves insufficiently fast.
Upper helicopter of the bank!
An invalid idea, this
turning head.
The gazelle leaps --
Unsatisfactory!
Bodies
From ascension comes a star.
One horse to another.
A whisper under ground
like filaments.
Focused on the last,
ships rise as if containers.
I stopped your voice.
Gravel thrown against all odds.
He throws out promises.
We catch them like catheters.
She has a straight spine,
but her head tilts.
I am so very much seized.
That’s why I abandoned you.
Last moment!
Never was!
How can they reach each other
without bodies?
Paper
The mind curves, absorbed in limestone.
It could have been anything.
The stranger’s cloak, taking it for your own.
The boys have nothing to lose.
Apart from hunger, his fingers move.
World upon world, unshaken.
Paper appears in the gaps.
The moon can’t help itself.
Each foot a worm tunneling through drains.
A spider’s eyes, implacable.
We thought the tree was dead.
It was only eating itself.
Mill
Oh Jack, I can’t even discern this tablecloth.
How much purpose is forgotten?
The woman at the mill, or is it millstone.
Tire treads all over the kitchen floor.
Essentials leak.
Space doesn’t fill our earlobes.
They have such happy teeth!
He exercises at the billiards table.
Trees against wind.
They’d be there anyway.
Birds stripped of comfort.
The basis of a transparent cover.
He smuggled himself in like a donkey.
Who can give up anything after that?
Shelter
Unbearable bird.
The shirt shifting in its sleep.
Tongue inside mouth.
The worm safe in its habitat.
Bodies like trees in water.
A fig, like paper.
The ray of night --
What can be ascertained there?
Each crumb unbearable,
a gift.
Thus sheltered, the knee extends,
positioning above the crowd.
Owls roost in the hall.
Hands unbelievable.
Fish in the shallows below the mill.
Before I knew, I was doing.
__________
Judith Roitman lives in Lawrence, Kansas. Her books and chapbooks include No Face (First Intensity), Slackline (Hank's Loose Gravel Press) and Furnace Mountain Poems (Omerta Publications); recent work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, Otoliths, Horse Less Review, Ragtag, First Intensity, and Bird Dog.
Night
Oh pomegranate flower!
Oh eye like engines!
The machine saw me breathe
all hollow, like a fish breast.
Foot below, head above,
and even lower: the amoeba.
Half the night stands still and
standing still is respected.
How does this affect us
before quitting?
Wings play the leading role.
They don’t see anything.
Justice perceived as weapon of play.
You can’t say what goes around.
“Don’t bother the company.”
That was always her method.
You can’t perceive a line
if it has no right or left.
Mouth
Your river mouth.
Your cherry arms.
Your eye moves insufficiently fast.
Upper helicopter of the bank!
An invalid idea, this
turning head.
The gazelle leaps --
Unsatisfactory!
Bodies
From ascension comes a star.
One horse to another.
A whisper under ground
like filaments.
Focused on the last,
ships rise as if containers.
I stopped your voice.
Gravel thrown against all odds.
He throws out promises.
We catch them like catheters.
She has a straight spine,
but her head tilts.
I am so very much seized.
That’s why I abandoned you.
Last moment!
Never was!
How can they reach each other
without bodies?
Paper
The mind curves, absorbed in limestone.
It could have been anything.
The stranger’s cloak, taking it for your own.
The boys have nothing to lose.
Apart from hunger, his fingers move.
World upon world, unshaken.
Paper appears in the gaps.
The moon can’t help itself.
Each foot a worm tunneling through drains.
A spider’s eyes, implacable.
We thought the tree was dead.
It was only eating itself.
Mill
Oh Jack, I can’t even discern this tablecloth.
How much purpose is forgotten?
The woman at the mill, or is it millstone.
Tire treads all over the kitchen floor.
Essentials leak.
Space doesn’t fill our earlobes.
They have such happy teeth!
He exercises at the billiards table.
Trees against wind.
They’d be there anyway.
Birds stripped of comfort.
The basis of a transparent cover.
He smuggled himself in like a donkey.
Who can give up anything after that?
Shelter
Unbearable bird.
The shirt shifting in its sleep.
Tongue inside mouth.
The worm safe in its habitat.
Bodies like trees in water.
A fig, like paper.
The ray of night --
What can be ascertained there?
Each crumb unbearable,
a gift.
Thus sheltered, the knee extends,
positioning above the crowd.
Owls roost in the hall.
Hands unbelievable.
Fish in the shallows below the mill.
Before I knew, I was doing.
__________
Judith Roitman lives in Lawrence, Kansas. Her books and chapbooks include No Face (First Intensity), Slackline (Hank's Loose Gravel Press) and Furnace Mountain Poems (Omerta Publications); recent work has appeared in Eleven Eleven, Otoliths, Horse Less Review, Ragtag, First Intensity, and Bird Dog.