Poem of the Week: July 21st, 2014

Lizi Gilad is a 2012 Pushcart Prize nominee and an MFA candidate at UC Riverside’s Low Residency Program. Her work is published or forthcoming in Amethyst Arsenic, A-Minor, Country Dog Review, Literary Bohemian, Thrush, and others. Her poem, “Hosanna,” can be found in Volume 2, Issue 1 of burntdistrict.

By Lizi Gilad

Save, we pray.
Save me.
Maybe mommy.
Maybe bee stings
or royal jelly.
Maybe infatuation:
hope in high heels,
a wax, flimsy underneaths.
Maybe hamster ovary cells.
Maybe machinery.
Maybe exercise.
Maybe sex and pheromones
afterward floating
like dust motes.
Maybe love. Love as in mountain.
Love as in swimming pool.
Maybe atonement, swinging
a chicken around the head.
Maybe more fat, less fat,
green juice, juice cleanse,
gluten free, meat free,
dairy free, sugar free.
Honey. Herbs.
Maybe the words
of the turbaned taxi driver
speeding me along the 280:
pray to Allah, beg
forgiveness for sins.
Maybe a laying of the hands.
Maybe little pink pills.
Maybe Om Nama Shivaya
in a strip mall yoga studio.
Maybe my child’s hands
digging in sand,
maybe watching the rows
of her todays, tomorrows.
Maybe Oprah.
Maybe rage.
A better haircut.
Another cupcake.
Maybe therapy.
Maybe poetry.
Maybe a weekend at Bethany Beach:
kneeling to the sun, kneeling,
and kneeling, and kneeling.
Maybe the bubble muscled men
in black tank tops at the corner
cupping flowers in their hands.
Maybe flowers. Fields of them.
Yarrow, chickory, blue vervain.

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