CAVE OF RUBIES
you tell me I am
supplicating
its claws in ice
not yet in time
now rests there
this cave of rubies
forgets whose hands
whole bladed
you tell me I am
of the cave lining
I missed it missed
blessed with two
with lines of women
the sun’s red and
in the stories
fear so grooved
the mouth of the cave
lining up my eyes
the sun approaches
with open palms
watching the lines
of women
its claws in ice
tried to save my soul
rests in my age
while my eye
these are who
sails not yet
bent at the mouth
up my eyes
this corner this cave
of childbirths the ruby
supplicating
whole bladed
a ruby fire
as this one
and yet I missed it
this corner this white
spilling fine salt
with a belly
as this one yet
I missed it missed
its claws in ice
blessed with two
childbirths the ruby
sun through
the sun’s red and
red stalactites filter
with a belly
supplicating
in the stories a ruby fire
the sun through which
their claws in ice
red stalactites filter
greased the earth
the cave lining
missed how at night
sun’s echoing sheet
whole bladed
an underdark
of women
the ruby sun
its claws in ice
with open palms
I am of the cave
the cave lining
I forget whose
greased earth
you tell me I am
each fear so
greased the earth
blessed
now rests there rests
in my age
whole bladed
the mouth of the cave
red stalactites humming
in the sun’s red
sails cracking in wind
it did not mean to offer
HOMEWARD
my mother rising from the basin bathed in dust her chimes we are all wild fallen frightened for you prey to exquisiteness to lined cotton linen shadows drawn over a lap a woman crested in red string the parallel fallen into prayer what light her think is here she’s twisten buried into untoward forget blurn bodies half-built my mother rising from dust we are all my motherblur rightened these crested doors falling open on a woman leaning from a window bathing in red strings her think a tufted port her think discourses
STATIC
Your body / the body of the people. The women ran away while you talked elections. The crowded square / blue and golden screaming. Reset. Four sheep / seven horses from the pain made of sheep and horses take your lips your hair and eyes / open to the air / slicing wires. I can cut your lips your hair or hunger. Your stomach ticking feet as zero like a leg bobbing in a river. Sea legs / bobbing like a tick in a bomb like a bulb in the sea. As the misery to come. All I can sustain is sheaves of kelp is damage. I think pretty / in safety. The more I killed the more I protected / a wonder. Like pain and those it chews on. When your hand reaches for the sheep the sea sings / for your hand I will give you death I will give you death for your handful of wires unload death into you / envelope you in the swell and ebb of death / the ports of death staring at you a port to answer and gradually / you envelope you / staring at death / leave you to soak in death’s salted flowers.
Montreux Rotholtz is the author of Unmark (Burnside Review Press, 2017), which was selected by Mary Szybist as the winner of the Burnside Review Press Book Award. Her poems appear in Black Warrior Review, Boston Review, Prelude, jubilat, Lana Turner, and elsewhere. She lives in Seattle.
