by Carol Berg
“Florida Woman Survives Being Hit By Flying Turtle”—Huffpost headline
I am old-born and come haunting you through sky-encounter.
You misunderstand the messages I bring of knees and breasts.
The knots of the air are uninvolved in this four-cornered world
of windshield. My leather paws gripping you like a lonely
masturbator. Can you rearrange this stumble? I might be the small
god of preconceptions but you must empty your house of dragons.
Do you see my candles flickering under my shell? Meditate on my
moth-breath that has kissed your forehead, tasted your mind.
Carol Berg’s poems are forthcoming or in Gyroscope, Crab Creek Review (Poetry Finalist 2017), DMQ Review, Hospital Drive (Contest Runner-Up 2017), Sou’wester, Spillway, Redactions, Radar Poetry, Verse Wisconsin. Her chapbooks, Her Vena Amoris (Red Bird Chapbooks), and “Self-Portraits” in Ides (Silver Birch Press) are available. Her poems have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes and Best of the Net. She was winner of a scholarship to Poets on the Coast and a recipient of a Finalist Grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council.
