CYCLAMENS
If the cat had Enraptured
not struck down
the bird, would I by the cyclamen’s
have seen the fine winged inversions—
quiver in its
smallest down: Or am I not struck
gray because
there, I too am
infinitesimal found
wanting?
PINK JASMINE
Indelicate: hanged, then sometimes burned
its scent that breeds children, afterwards
like flesh, climbs and roots at the far regions
cloying even in photographs, smiling
pinked tuberous one smudged boy in cap
infiltrating— it was a spectacle
historical, southern this fear that had its glee
even in the hangings, mutilations
unclassed vatic sexual: one per week, more
covering the share-cropper’s for a century
shack: dense scroll turned in on itself
upon which God leaves shame: twisting among
evidence of aching the leaves
Do you see the wings dissolve that scent
among us
Amy Pence's work has appeared in New American Writing, American Letters & Commentary as well as other literary journals. Her online chapbook Skin's Dark Night may be found at http://www.2river.org/chapbooks/pence/default.html
