qarrtsiluni

by R.A. Dusenberry

Morning-dark and chill Friday
May, Thursday June, November
Monday, we ride the train.

It’s what we do, how we go.
Each day, we ride the red line,
sometimes the blue.

We are breasts, ass and womb,
bloodless crone, girl-child
green, a bound wife.

We carry baggage—
crammed backpacks and totes
that overflow, purses that bulge

with jars of war honey, lullabies
antler-carved, tins of bitter
jasmine, cunts of bone.

We bring with us what we must.

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R.A. Dusenberry lives in the Pacific Northwest with a cat that isn’t her cat. She loves to garden, hates turnips and is ambivalent about plaid. She is also the Art Editor of Soundzine.