TWO POEMS by emet ezell
SOUTHWEST OF BABYLON
surely the ewe lambs, ramming their heads into their mothers’ tits, can show me how to pray.
i have been following their belched bleating across hilltops, me and my diet of dates. walking. stopping. grazing beneath an olive tree. stone by stone we make our way.
i wanted to know where home was— i pulled the hot sand through my fists. vanity, vanity. desperation in the belly, mint leaves in the teeth.
FOLLICULAR PHASE OF A SNAKE
each day the maude colored turtledove comes to her nest. divot of twigs and stone. around her eyes are rings of dark, red flesh.
i lay the swollen meat of my body in the sun and pray for a woman to bury me. she will not come.
only crows and their beady beaks. it was a past life, one of empty tombs and resurrections.
here, amidst seasons of exile, i mother god. desperate, dependent— a howling newborn strapped to my back.
we are in a field of mustard. green and yellow stems. i nurse god with four cups of wrath and three types of blood: the same way that god nursed me.
unravel the snake from within my jaw. the snake clumps out my mouth. the price of cruelty, the thrill of my god-broken ribs.
i send the snake out for the eggs in the nest, the same way my mother taught me.