*Price includes tax and shipping and handling.
Poetic chapbook with corresponding visual art by Megan Perra
Letter press, hand-made dust-jacket, textured paper
Limited print run of 75 copies
Leveret at Laughing Jaw
In conversation with Megan Perra’s “Leveret at Laughing Jaw”
Mother made a nest in the dead
mouth of what almost killed her. She was resourceful
in that way, never wasted a sprig or a stone.
I was young, unsung, curled up
as the young often are. My sisters and I
planted a fringed tulip bulb in his eye
socket, long-since picked clean, and filled it
with loam. By spring, what sprouted had many fingers,
most of them accusing, some of them silent.
At night, my mind laid flat as a clearing and the hours
crept through like timid deer. When the moon
light hit them, their bodies twisted, turned
to half liquid, half smoke and suspended a few feet
above the earth—spiraling, morphing.
One night, one real night, I stood outside
my cabin and watched the aurora evolve and stretch
like taffy being spun. Foolish enough then
to think I knew her suffering or the type of woman
I would become—the damage my mouth,
in all its green, would wrought.