Trilobite is an arthropodologist's delight:
many bizarre creatures; no two alike.

two poems

amy nadine

Soft Hurricane

my best friend
Facetimes while shaving
her armpits and tells
of how an elder
in her Ojibwe tribe
warned against
the vulnerability
of parenting–
i wonder the shield
in my ribcage
the sword at my
throat the kisses
endlessly planted
in the pale apple
bow of my daughter’s
sweet pink cheek–
the repetitiousness
of my need for her.
now it’s humid
in Los Angeles
like never and beyond
the baby blue wall a phone
synchronizes emergency
warnings— it doesn’t
stir but instead
soothes, somehow–
is this why my mother
flies to Hawaii’i
to help put out the flames?
why she drives door to door
during a southern flood?
the suffering of others
is easier to assist–
i note her fallopian
program baiting me
don’t fight it
metal under the tongue tensing
muscle against an upward
tilting of the day–
just serve
those who need serving–
it seems simple
but i don’t chew
like a saint
and my mouth
is it’s own shape
and as i teeter slopes
of burying more
seeds in my uterus
thinking it’s a good idea
like last spring
planting morning glories
that now choke
pink passion flowers
pushing up through the rain–
as i fuss that slow
swell that soft
hurricane within
which could, i admit
kill me–
something loosens
unclenches, gives way.
perhaps there will always
be more to give
it doesn’t matter
what it costs

Lost Clock

the common things
i crave one could
spread butter over
or salt, or soak
in hot water
long enough to get
forgotten. they are
so simple and smooth
one could lick and lick and lick
until full.
if i bow to towers
of dirty dishes slick
with toddler delights
maybe peace
would shed shirtsleeves
from her sweet shoulders
and awe would slow me–
maybe in her perfect
presence my need
would unwind
like a held in sigh
and the things i loved
would rediscover
bones at my feet
and hands and
the tomatoes
in my ramshackle
greenhouse would
shed their green faces
and go soft–
and when the one
without my face
plucks and places
a yellow cherry
between her back teeth
scrunching her eyebrows
and bites
i would see the rosy flesh
of the one who ran
and know how
to say it gently–
that relief i was given.
the blessing of fleeing
the blessing of fear
staring me down
every morning demanding
cereal and applesauce
is a revelation:
how unnecessary
someone is to fully love
someone else.
they are eyes
that can’t make up their mind
green and gray
brown and red–
she’s finally looking like you
her aunt said at a party
face to face
olives and sweet cream
at bedtime: tiny hands
reaching up through the dark
a little lost clock whispering
one more mama
no negotiations
no bribes
we just lie there
let our vocal folds
become tender
buckle the bend
in our chests
watch everything ripen
and go translucent
the moon so close
and white