by Lake Angela
Afraid of losing my irrevocable words, I reach for them in the dirt,
shredding loaves of green bread with my nails to find the heart,
shuddering the mass of leaves in procession. I beg the doctor
to prescribe me a new preposition, as though he has any power
over the meanings among words. After my burial, you will find
my intention lost at Lake’s edge. A sharpened blue star—sharper
than anything conceived by human materials—slices though my skull,
the coffin, frozen earth—and rises like a fatal flower. Who knows
with what harm or joy it will bless the next animal who scents it out
and loves it before swallowing its counterintuitive edges. Beauty is
counter-indicated for survival, though not for our conception.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lake Angela is a poet, translator, and dancer-choreographer from Lake Erie who develops her work at the confluence of verbal language and movement. She holds a PhD from The University of Texas at Dallas for her inter-semiotic translations of German Expressionist poetry into dance and has her MFA in poetry. She is a medieval mystic and beguine. Her poems and choreography often explore the possibilities in and kinds of darknesses and silences and the expressions of colors, waters, and suffering. Her first full-length book of poetry, Organblooms, was published by FutureCycle Press in January 2020, and her second collection, Words for the Dead, is forthcoming in January of 2021. Her poetry-dance may be found on her website.