For the Voice

Kathryn Tabb

Since her mother died my friend emits

noises unheard since the day she was born

from her mouth, she wants that woman among women

and she wants her now, her mouth once legal

elicits, her intention then sensible now is

unspeakable, the answer is no now.

I make an object of comfort, suggest, ‘Let nothing put a period

where love has placed a comma.’

I once had a way with daughters

and watched this one with my wandering eye,

would be her raggedy friend, let her drag me

through the grass. But now she has split herself open

falling from her birthday bicycle, and she comes

a pomegranate kneecap and a sound.

Something Sung

As if the sun through needle's eye

Leaves a fit the shape of so and so,

So to assure release your organs lay and so

And so and so and so. As if not flung we

Would not a touched, a few months or so

Ago, we splendid splay but then some.

Sewn and scratched hue lady, hue, necessary hewn

I’ve no tune left with which to stand some.


Not a little luminous clings

This unadorned girl

I call her, ‘My patently flowering one’

When she was a girl

She began her grand project

She opened her mouth

To limn her parched sails

To memory she said,

‘Is the word a lyceum Beneath the word a river’

Once begrudged with

Vapor in her clavicles

She asked, ‘May I heave ho’