The Fourth Week

First supplication when I discovered you
low in my belly: a prayer for a raisin, a sea monkey
the letter “C”, a fingernail swimming
scratching my interior walls. I walked long
over a leafed bridge where steam rose from water
like the sweat-dampened withers of a mare,
a brood mare, a sullen brooding mare,
no, a breeding mare. A thick, cantering mother.
You weren’t anything then: a watering mouth,
a sharp stitch, a vise around my brain, wanting
of oxygen, vacuous. Precious thief, always present
even in my vespers, which suddenly whispered
come into your muscles and your fists.
Blinking eyelids, a mouse heart unfurling:
evolve into serious meaning, because your tail
will fuse itself into a spine and we will share hope
and blood and bananas and I will forget
what it was to walk with you, low in my belly,
to hold you inside of me like a silent confession.​

LAUREN GORDON is the Pushcart Prize nominated author of "Meaningful Fingers" (Finishing Line Press), "Keen" (Horse Less Press), and "Generalizations about Spines" (Yellow Flag Press). She was nominated for two Best of the Net awards this year and is a Contributing Editor for Radius Lit.
The Adirondack Review
FALL 2014