{"id":2166,"date":"2013-07-03T02:14:15","date_gmt":"2013-07-03T02:14:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=2166"},"modified":"2013-07-03T02:14:15","modified_gmt":"2013-07-03T02:14:15","slug":"serenamwilcox-713","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/serenamwilcox-713\/","title":{"rendered":"Serena M. Wilcox, July 2013"},"content":{"rendered":"

Salome<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\n

<\/div>\n

Slowly, you pass your gaze in the mirror.<\/p>\n

The bedroom walls behind you no longer<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

wear white. You remember dancing for your<\/p>\n

dad, his hands folded into a triangle. Your<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

mother watched from the corner. Waiting<\/p>\n

means something is being groomed. Lambs<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

know what it means to be married to silence;<\/p>\n

what it means to be comforted with the stealth<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

of a lover\u2019s kiss while breaking your hymen.<\/p>\n

Failure feels like watching evening clouds<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

burn the rim of what we believe is unreachable.<\/p>\n

They swim and move as flames playing through<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

a cold night. The eyes, exhausted, prohibits the lids<\/p>\n

their shutter lest you miss something again.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

Thaw<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I live with the knowledge<\/p>\n

of fear and trembling, trembling<\/div>\n
is what I do when close to the earth<\/div>\n
which is my husband<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

I make a home in the slums<\/p>\n

by his side, his eyes partially<\/div>\n
open meet mine and his luminous<\/div>\n
stare leaves ears of light pressed<\/div>\n
again the pillow<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
My Othello slept without arms tonight<\/div>\n
Could this mean I am changing?<\/i><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Is there mystery in sleeping nude<\/div>\n
next to a man with a delicate history<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

These are the questions of January,<\/p>\n

the season of ice and want where everything<\/div>\n
I touch feels like fire<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Polygamy<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I remember standing<\/p>\n

in the kitchen watching<\/p>\n

a sheet of clouds<\/p>\n

hang over the horizon<\/p>\n

like the last breath<\/p>\n

of a troubled soul<\/p>\n

a qualm was present<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and then\u2026<\/p>\n

rain began to march<\/p>\n

through the room<\/p>\n

reminding me of hard<\/p>\n

things like how colors<\/p>\n

meet in a Rothko or<\/p>\n

how you could smile<\/p>\n

at me still wearing her<\/p>\n

scent in my presence<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Salome Slowly, you pass your gaze in the mirror. The bedroom walls behind you no longer wear white. You remember dancing for your dad, his hands folded into a triangle. Your mother watched from the corner. Waiting means something is being groomed. Lambs know what it means to be married to silence; what it means […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2166","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nSerena M. 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