There comes the day
when the miracle fails,
when it’s too hard to tell
wolf from girl no matter
how you check size
of eyes, of thighs.
There comes the day
when the lunar tic
tocks past some pebble
in the sky and you never
see it. When you say wait,
am I the train or am I
on the tracks.
When the damp-kneed fawn
stands arrowed, orphaning
her parents. When the slow
dressing down of flesh
leaves you melted
and railing. When
from now on, our parents die
all the time.
Friends, where is your pitchfork parade?
Barter rams for butter, and best
this brainpan, greased,
this heart that snuffles,
vole-blind. Come with your
reminders, bring your volleys
of herbs. Tell me about being
alive. Tell me, please, the story
of the sizzle, the hiss,
the breath we breathe
just before we kiss.
Tell me you’ll keep watch
when my eyes are closing.
tell me we’ll die alive,
still inhaling.
Jaime Warburton (MFA, Sarah Lawrence College) is the author of the chapbook Note That They Cannot Live Happily; her poems and stories have appeared in publications such as Gargoyle Magazine, Hoxie Gorge Review, Storyscape, The Nervous Breakdown, The Collagist, and The Southeast Review. Jaime lives and teaches in Ithaca, NY.