INVISIBLE, IN THE TALL GRASS

Out of the bird’s house–
splattered with sawdust and rising heat–
a woman crawls
to stand in the storm,
thunder cracking just above.
It’s time again to bleed,
to soak clover
with longing.
Longing for less texts
about needing more
recycling bags,
dog food,
time.
less nights, peeling skin off feet
like dried glue.

Longing for more rivers–
brimful with gold,
lobster rolls,
honey dripping into wombs
and everything in the world
to be wet
closer
mixing blood
like spit pacts
or oil paints
or sex.

A good-luck-bird
the same color as the rain
lands someplace invisible,
in the tall grass
waits motionless
for the woman to see
her lift her ordinary wings,

But the woman will stand
And shiver

And crave
And choose
to stay another moment

someplace invisible,
in the tall grass
and bleed.

By Collins Aguilar