Ritual; over; Grilled Swordfish with Mango Chutney

By: Meara Levezow

Ritual

Were I to meet you

in a high school classroom

and transform your flesh 

into tiny plastic cubes,

could I finally forgive you?

Would your gelatin shadow

cast near the window

be so beautiful

that I begin to thaw? 

And the satisfying geometrical clack

of your mouth falling loose 

and skittering across the floor:

a redemption? A balm?

Is this a killing?

Perhaps.

But you are so much

lovelier like this: 

translucent and 

inanimate.

And anyway, 

I can’t sleep 

when you’re in

human form.

over

we aim our answers over our ears,

roar in vain in our room.

we mirror air now-

we rein in rain: no ore

in our mine, no seams.

see our wares?

eerie.

mean.

a murmur in our ears:

never or soon.

one sore, serious noon, our veins move.

mine scream,

name me. rouse me and answer me.

occur. 

Grilled Swordfish with Mango Chutney