A Paper Brain and Unsung Mountain Song

A Paper Brain

I position, like a bonnet,
a paper brain there,
thin and lace,
dried apricot
slow thought
as he carries his words
above him in tall antlers.

And like another woman
swimming in his thoughts,
the waters form rivers,
connect to his frosted head,
and his heart opens
like a third eye rainbow on his chest.

I have made a marriage
with his past.

My esophagus eats
the remainders of their hair
and their white skins,
a swarm of delicate bees
that pull and push
and scratch my blood dreams.

In nights
the sidewalks overtake the streets,
become empty carriages
for sluggish people,
a singular beat on my reluctant air,
a memory ground down to dirt.

I make an act of bold mother
to stand hand in hand
with the nakedness of that body,
to compare my shadows,
my curves,
my hints of light
until its roughness is burnt idle
in tree vomit.

© 2011 April Michelle Bratten

Unsung Mountain Song

If the unsung songs
of mother mountain did shine
like pumping life
along the purpled stain
of the mountain side,

I might attempt to climb
its booming belly.

There, the wind could accept
my flying hair
as a tickle to the formation’s womb,
the grand baby, me,
teetering the edge of God’s hustle
in a saliva slick afterbirth.

I would be bore with shame
from some dimpled cave,

the evil crown of my eyebrows
atop the battered indention
of my head,
bruised by the border
of the angry vagina I left
with early exit.

I would dare the massive contractions
of this entire earth
to pulse the bare-back grasses
of my dissatisfaction,
to touch the un-plucked strings
of my breasts’ breathing soul harp,
to purr my death in gushings of blood
and glacier,

but I would be met only
with the silence
that answers a rebellious climb.

The mountain would stretch
its fat haunches,
eating up the land,
and I would stay simple and small
grasping at the roots.

© 2011 April Michelle Bratten

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