In the Beginning
After Donika Kelly’s “In the Beginning”
In the beginning, there was only this lake
pounding harsh against the jagged rocks—
this brutal beating below bark shadowed
blue by afternoon waves. The wind blows
frigid against my uncovered ear tips, as the
birch’s roots lie upturned, body moss-covered—
new flesh forming in her finality. Flat cedar
branchlets parallel the horizon; their fallen
needles soften my steps on this forest floor.
I taste their burnt smell in my throat as they
greet me: A poem lies in the lines of the birch.
When the birch doesn’t speak, I don’t ask
for a translation.
Sonnet for the Lighthouse at East Wharf
After Donika Kelly’s “I love you. I miss you. Please get out of my house.”
Nothing today hasn’t happened before: the gravel
pile on the side of state highway 82, Canadian geese
eating crumbs near the lake’s walkways, pink sunset
against that yellow sky. Today’s winter air smells like
the middle of Oklahoma, and I know when it snows
and lines the tops of my neighbors’ balconies, I will
pretend I’m in your old apartment. Stale morning
air in my lungs. Birds swaying on the powerlines.
I am trying so hard to recognize my body for what
it is: silk undone, silk unbecoming. The only time I
visited that lighthouse on Lake Hefner, I almost slipped
on the rocks cascading toward the water. I deleted every
photo taken that day. But still I see the locked green
door, your cold hands peeking from under your sleeves.
I Find Remnants of Home in the Map of My Body
After Donna Spruijt-Metz’s “Hoof”
Is it that I have had a richness
in this greenery or an anguish
unspoken?
The dogwood blooms through
the left side of my body—I find
roots spreading instead of veins.
In a dream, I ask: where is home?
Fence lines wrinkle across my brow;
to unfurrow would be to completely
undo myself.
Through closed eyes I watch
my legs fold themselves. I tire of
the ribbon that ties together my intestines.
In my hair lives a tiny bird. It brings
an apple seed back to its nest. I hear
swallowing,
then quiet.
Emerald ᏃᏈᏏ GoingSnake is a poet and lesbian creative from the Giduwa and Mvskoke nations in Oklahoma. She has been published in Beloved: A ButchFemme Zine and Frozensea.org, and has work forthcoming from Tribal College Journal. She is currently at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and plans to pursue an MFA in Creative Writing post-graduation.
Original header photo by Sezamnet, courtesy Shutterstock.
