Nebraska Center for Writers

BURNING THE WEDDING DRESS
by Amy Plettner


The heat starts over the hips
Void of his hands    Absent of bone

Reverent lips suck the cleavage white lies
And at the nape black widows pluck their webs
Vibrate Couple   Hurl

Buckskins stampede the chest
Hooves leave the ground in instinct
Charge over swells where chasms wait

Cecropia's metamorphose
Spread their wings wide
Fly from the two holes
Where arms once reached

The rib cage
A jungle of rapid vines
Leaf and blacken the heart

Wooden diamonds Onyx stars
Fleshy iris    The tongues of reptiles
Caves swirl the inner thigh

A male grouse struts the hem
Postures the ridge
Airs out his yellow orange balls
Peacocks and doves flock
Above the waterfall of pearls

Twelve years of beige moons
Engorge the cavity of womb

The smoke starts over the sky
Void of his vows    Absent of remorse

Reprinted with permission
Copyright © 2008
by Amy Plettner


VOW
(with a line by Blake Moore)
by Amy Plettner

Marry me moon
on a country road
in July's luminescent dust
where fireflies orgy over a stretch of corn
and your smell of half light
breaks through the grasses
parts me open
devours
marry me like this
like a firefly
absolute
in everyone else's
darkness

Reprinted with permission
Copyright © 2005
by Amy Plettner


FEMALE
by Amy Plettner


We were both the genitalia of slender beardtongue,
and left the male part of ourselves
in some fragrant corner of our mothers and fathers.
This is why the shape of richness is so inherent in our lips.

We have all been raped one way.
When attempts were made on our girlish bodies
our fathers would not cry for us.
We walked sideways in the depths of summer.

Our breasts had nothing left.
We gathered blackberries in the foothills,
our hands tossed out any dry shirveled fruit.
When our baskets swelled we clung to them.

Where our grandmothers had grown tired
we learned to swim in the shadows of the river
a force that caused snowmelt in spring
to flow back up the mountains.

Reprinted with permission
Copyright © 2005
by Amy Plettner


TREE HOUSE
by Amy Plettner

Plywood and two by fours nailed in a live oak.
Butte Creek Canyon steeped in moonlight.
Cicadas vibrate the chapparral.
Poison oak sleeps low under manzanita.
Uria + Mattie in a carved heart.
Smoke up a chimney.

Reprinted with permission
Copyright © 2005
by Amy Plettner


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