Two Poems

Origin Story

I was born.
I was given things,
a silver cup
a name I would have to say
my whole life.
Geopolitics ensued.
Yellow ribbons meant war.
We tied one around the tree by the road.
I watched the calves be born.
Ursula and I touched tongues
while watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
It was a very similar sensation.
I learned which plants in the yard
you could eat.
I wanted to eat them all.



Oklahoma Dream Sequence

In the field I can finally touch her,
the wheat is dictator gold.
Her hair, a little lighter,
I can feel her on my soft palate, the free fall
just before sleep, mineral sky. We merge
in a wedding dress. My husband is smiling
as wide as he can, I’m supposed to smile back
as wide as I can, but the veil is ripped from me.
The sky has gone bordello red.
The whores shake their jewel-toned mini skirts,
ass cheeks emerge synchronously.
They move in a way so practiced it hurts.
I have always known it could end like this,
a premonition of tasseled hot lamplight,
caught up in flinging my limbs around,
fog machines turned up high.
This isn’t a prairie.
There is no earth, only this slightly damp carpet,
and someone painted the horizon line
too far away. My whole life
with a bit in my mouth.
The whole barn, set on fire.
In the booth, I let him unearth
certain photos, bishop’s lace,
hands grazing latticed petals
and other things on my camera roll.
Then I run and he’s calling my name
through wide open space.


____
Juliette Jeffers lives in New York.