I am trying to remember.
the memory is fresh, deep down.
it is perhaps lodged in the brain stem,
perhaps beneath the brain stem
in the spinal column
in the spinal fluid, in blood
in bone.

Sand grains lining the ocean
of my memory
are the myths and legends
of footnote, her story.
myths and rituals desensitize
the sudden unknown, the visitation
the interruption of primal man,
the intervention of gods.

Of aliens. the bringers of
tongue and tongue-kissing
of song and repetition,
of caress and greeting.
in my lower back is the harmony
dislocated, deep in my blood
the breathing of red sea, salt,
suddenly the coughing of sky.

I am fish and corn, animal
and Ishtar and Mother. I am deep
in my memory of tide, moon.
"I am the whore and the holy one,"
said the magdalena. I am the first
and the last, a slip of tongue.
the twitch in my belly, oh sweet
intervention, a rabid saviour.
first to steal the apple suspicious
of tide, moon deep in the blood
in in in
bone pounding bone, crack
a certain sound of a certain voice
wailing, remembering visitors.

Remembering a story in my
blood, in a song, in the "tracks
of my tears" in a fairy ring, in art history
in the three musketeers, in frankenstein
in ol' virgeen-ee-ah.

In my extra bedroom I keep
books about visitations I keep the door locked
In my lower back I keep
grating away the prison wall.
in my religion is the first and
the last rabid wail, the first
breath, the last bite of the apple,
the Kore. In
my bones is fossil fuel, in my
memory are aliens, landing on me, in
my bed.

I remember. The memory is fresh,
deep down, lodged in a t.o.e.
That far. She left us
tide, moon, memory, myth
she left us quickly.