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Amy Katherine Cannon

Plant your yard full of overripe cantaloupe

 

wait for the infants to crown

the earth, pendant

from the sky’s heavy uterus,

pulls it down over us

pressure of lovemaking,

the twice-as-heavy one on top.

 

Like a newborn curls into itself,

unwilling yet a little while to be

unfurled, the plants are latent,

to all appearances dead

and unbecoming anything.

 

We plait the corn husk

and silk together and wait:

make a wish unblinking

on a satellite slipping past, 

droplet on immeasurable skillet,

 

little drop frittering on the black span

of space. Your eyes are an uncertain

blue and I can’t find the satellite.

 

You’ve looked away and,

anyway, I’ve forgotten

what these corn husk dolls

were for.

 

 

Listen to Amy Katherine Cannon read “Plant your yard full of overripe cantaloupe.”

-

 

Voyeur

 

 

the curve of your back

I opened my eyes to

lit blue in too-early light

had a sheen like unaware

eros might:

my seeing aggressed

the skin you slept in.

how to tell transgression

of love or lust by looking

at the you you didn’t know I did,

what pleasure I took in it

how your waking

would ruin it

 

 

Listen to Amy Katherine Cannon read “Voyeur.”

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