If the trenches cut from the weight of the coffins
on the carriage were to fill, let it be with water
clean enough to drink, with light, or with forgiveness.
If the men rolling bread rations into rosary beads
were to pray, it would be for the nursery of birds,
fifty-nine, the number of feathers in a wing,
the number of bones in her hands
as she gathers their coats, their blouses,
the sleeves & collars she holds in her palms,
feeling for a pulse. & the men, their hands
having never touched her, but having turned the earth
for graves, pour something of themselves inside.
One soldier watches the field stitch together,
hears angels sing where cornstalks are cut,
piled, burned for black smoke.
Another cries out, and she cannot feed
him because the water for washing is not for drinking.
Her breasts open again, sweet scent of juniper,
stains the color of cream. & under threadbare canvas,
over porcelain bowls, she scrubs the milk from her dress,
strings it between branches to dry, a cloud of bees stinging the wind
that keeps its shape. & every night but tonight,
she squeezes her fingers into a fist, touches the knot of her body,
the size of a heart, the shape of a horse’s hoof.
She presses palm to palm, prays: if this battlefield floods,
let their rifles be driftwood, let the men believe
that all things are boats, let them sign their names
in the spaces between stars. Outside the walls of her tent,
she hears the echo of the cavalry, the steeds galloping
off months of dust, seeding the clouds with rain.
Brandon Courtney spent four years in the United States Navy. His poetry is forthcoming or appears in Best New Poets 2009, Linebreak, and The Los Angeles Review among others. He attends the M.F.A. program at Hollins University.
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This piece was selected by Guest Editor Kelly Davio
Kelly Davio is a poet and teacher in the Seattle area. She holds an MFA in Poetry from Northwest Institute of Literary Arts (Whidbey Writers’ Workshop), and works as an instructor of English as a Second Language.
She currently serves as Managing Editor for Los Angeles Review, and Associate Poetry Editor for Fifth Wednesday Journal. She is am also a book reviewer for Women’s Review of Books. My poetry has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize, and my debut collection, Burn This House, is forthcoming from Red Hen Press.