2 poems — Ronda Broatch



BEFORE THE STARS COME ON I INVESTIGATE DECAY

Tonight only moon
wrapped in gauze, crickets
grinding the stone dark

whatever they might be
saying becomes erasure, past
grit of things

a madrona about to slough, a cliff
erodes beneath weight
of rain

the perseverance of ants
of silence
that bears up this world

memory clots, knocks
another picture from the wall
another robin

cries cheery-up cheery-me
calls tut tut tut, tseep
under its feet

worms interpret
the braillesong of grief.

***


I HANG DISASTERED ON YOUR EVERY AFTERMATH

I am not to be confused with skipjack
not to be confused

with dirt and the lizard on cedar
siding I am not to be

confessed I
am not concussed

to be confused with the skull
unraveling its flowereyes

its dangling heart the only inkblot
seen for miles

I roundhouse to your unraveling
gerund to your burning endstop

when the fig snakes winter
in her belly

juiced and dried I arrive
like a shirt on your pile

***


Ronda Broatch is the author of Lake of Fallen Constellations (MoonPath Press, 2015), Shedding Our Skins, (Finishing Line Press, 2008) and Some Other Eden, (2005). Publications include: RHINO, Prairie Schooner, Fourteen Hills, Mid-American Review, and Fire On Her Tongue: An Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry (Two Sylvias Press). She has received several Pushcart nominations, and has been a May Swenson Poetry Award finalist. Ronda currently co-edits the literary journal Crab Creek Review.