Diana Whitney

Current

Years passed. I grew too old
for danger. No more playing the nymph

in the summer forest. No more thrill

of secret trysts & haiku, every flower
& seed imbued with meaning. Milkweed 

floating across the valley, aloft 

on thermals of longing. Goldenrod
keeled over in rain, a gesture

of surrender. Transgression was once

the most interesting thing about me.
Now I see we were tediously 

ordinary, lacking even the courage 

to destroy our lives. I feel nothing now
except pinpricks of curiosity, 

the warmth & heft 
of household bonds. The goddess

you mistook me for has vanished,
morning fog lifting

to reveal the river, indifferent current
rolling south

to merge with a colder tide.

Velvet Rocks

That August in a cotton smock
I hoofed up Velvet Rocks
40 weeks to the day full up 
to my sternum with baby

The elastic band of my bike shorts
rode low beneath my belly panting
like a wolfhound cranky and hot
all I wanted was to get you 
out of me   

So I tramped the granite switchback   
lined with mosses arms swinging 
the humid summer forest 
as the sun rose higher above the valley
the river snaking between two states

How matter shifts firm to yielding
solid to liquid liquid to air

I’d done all my homework read 
all the books practiced 
my breathing my hypno-visualization
swallowed evening primrose oil each morning 

slid the golden capsules deep inside 
where they melted like honey 
to soften the cervix and you

dropped
into the pelvic bowl sunnyside up
ready or not here we come

Keep walking they said
so I hauled you up Velvet Rocks

to the shelter where I camped at 19
ate watermelon by firelight
a stone’s throw from the tiled hospital
the mechanical bed beaded with sweat

ice cubes on my forehead
as if on a skillet your skull
bearing down your neck arched back

You were navigating the tunnel
We were digging deeper
the summer river green and flecked 

with amber suspended between two states
of matter between out and in 
between here and there S-curves
of current shifting alluvial silt 
filtered through algae

Bright scalpel your blood my blood  
white curtain drawn tight

bright room like a boat 
where they hauled you in thrashing

Back to Issue IX…