Carnivorous

–Lucie Brock-Broido

 

I was lying loose from God. Strange is it not best   

Beloved, in the New World, in this skinny life,

 

Intemperate with chance, my spirit quickens   

For the fall’s estate. In India, the half

 

Hour is the hour, we were like that then—

Jammed wrong & wrong in the diurnal

 

Mangy chambers of our carnall

Hearts, the rose robes rustling loose as velvet

 

Curtains at the stage prow, passing   

Into the strange salt air of an Indian

 

Ocean, hoarding kindling, heading   

West with hours, later than we might

 

Have known, counting tins of meats & oil left,   

If they should lose or last the night.

Photo by Tiago Donangelo Figueira on Unsplash