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| Amanda K Norman |
a bottle of merlot is a gift to celebrate these weeks that feel like years, to celebrate the passing of years as minutes / chansons resurrect the structure of this house, we lend our pulses to the walls on borrowed time and in the bottom of his glass I can tell the future / in the bottom of the glass I can turn his head to the west while he thinks he’s facing north / in the bottom of the glass this encounter is something he saw in a dream / in the bottom of the glass the sediment forms a crescent moon and he says he sees it clearly too / there is no mist over the moon when I look out the window but he has changed his plans for me / there is no mist over the moon and he hands me a ring, silver knotted around a sliver of aurora / a sliver of aurora like me, a being in a beam who fell through the atmosphere, made solid on contact / in the gemstone in the ring I can’t see the future / there is no mist over the aurora but we’re too far south / in the bottom of the glass I see my love in the rising mist around a crescent moon and I tell him yes
A halfling emerges
the pain is enough to push
what’s left of me from this body
along with him
until I am called back by the bark
of a midwife
and the buzz
of urgency brings more bodies
to the room
[a baby is no use if only
his head makes it out]
and they twist and pull
and he slips free, a salamander
in the flood
and a sudden song
reaches us from a car parked outside
the rise and fall his fanfare
and his skin warms
from blue to pink like a sunset
and from where he rests
meeting my gaze from his nest
on my own sunken belly
his blinking halfway eyes
[dark as a foal’s on a late spring morning]
see through me
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