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2015-08-18-Puhak.jpg

Two Poems by Shelley Puhak

May 1, 2013

Guinevere, Dissecting Lancelot

 

Still wet from our dip in the river,

you stripped off your shirt and so

I found the freckle that straddles

 

your third vertebrae and from it traced

the length of your spine. Then sawed

through bone archways, stem to

 

sacrum, to get to the cord and its tortuous

membranes. Tested my forceps against

your most tubular bundle. Tugged

 

your palest tether. And carved out cross

sections to sample your nerve.

To think that I have the stomach

 

for this! —your slop in my stainless. Or the eyes.

To read between your lines, reckon

between vein and slimmest filament.

 

 

Lancelot, Alone at Fort McHenry

 

Oh say, can you see!— from 95 North, the swath of city

from stadium to incinerator smokestack jutting up

like teeth too-crowded in the bay’s small mouth.

 

I’ve seen and Ginny, darling, I can no longer breathe. I got off

the interstate, cut through an industrial park, throbbing.

Then I saw an alley named Excalibur Drive. How could I not

 

pull over and sob? My heart is, apparently, impure, clotted up

with more than cholesterol. In the afternoon meeting, I was

pulled off the Grail, the account given to someone who isn’t

 

so jaded—my own bastard. Damned Galahad, kicked out

of Oberlin, thrice, standing in the rain every weekend,

protesting, waterproof in his Patagonia and linked up with

 

his iPhone. There’s ignorance and then there’s innocence.

If you don’t want me, Ginny, I don’t know what will weigh

me down. There’s gravity and then there’s me being grave.

 

I rode the rim of highway like the crease of your lips, searching

by the twilight’s last gleaming. This fort offered succor. Here

the sky is spangled with spiral galaxies and the bay refracts

 

the dream of their strange light, a luminescence almost-liquid,

past-solid. Ginny, when you speak there’s light glinting

off your fillings. There’s a city stuffed in your mouth.


Shelley Puhak is the author of two poetry collections, the more recent of which, Guinevere in Baltimore, was selected by Charles Simic for the Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize. Her poems have most recently appeared in Kenyon Review Online, Missouri Review, Ninth Letter, and North American Review.

In Poetry, Print Tags Shelley Puhak, 2013 spring vol. 6 issue 1
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