The God Particle - Annalynn Hammond


TWO POEMS by Annalynn Hammond
The Thing that is Not Unlike a Horse For Prometea--the first cloned horse--named after Prometheus. As a mirror looks into a mirror, it is its own mother and twin at once, constantly birthing itself into reflection after reflection, the single cell replicating, the twisting helix. The thing that is not unlike a horse--how it must spin as it rears its infinite heads, how its multiplicity must pound through its veins as a thunderous herd, a contradiction of identical hooves. What is this burden of being? - - Not even like an old pack mule can it tumble to its knees at the last dry creek and say, "Finally, the end." "No," the hand with the whip says, "again." Leaving Two people are clinging like bats, curled, their ribs press towards their backs, and their soft flesh falls towards the center. Their bellies pour into the bowl of their hips, their chests heave and tongues stir the milk that runs from their lips. Waves and shivers, the heat, the air coils through their eyes and their feet rake the sand. One says, "I'm dying." The other, "Look at my hand." The lines are moving, fingers quiver as if they are strings on a small violin, as if they are trying to fly from a limb and lose the long pull of the bow that stings their red skin. Two bats are losing their grip, their thin nails grasp at their ribs, and their veined wings crumple into the tree roots, then shuffle away, brushing the yellowed ankles of winter, leaving the branches to their own bare music--the sound of horsehair on wind. ______________
ANNALYNN HAMMOND's first book, Dirty Birth, was the winner of Sundress publications' First Annual Book Contest and will be available in spring 2004. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, Can we have our ball back?, Diagram, Failbetter, The Paumanok Review and many others. She lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where The God Particle's founding editor recalls standing outside in a long line to purchase a frozen custard cone during a blizzard when he was ten years old, and is currently an assistant poetry editor with the Cream City Review. .
CONTENTS PAGE

TWO POEMS
by Annalynn Hammond

The Thing that is Not Unlike a Horse

For Prometea--the first cloned horse--named after Prometheus.

As a mirror looks into a mirror,
it is its own mother and twin at once,
constantly birthing itself
into reflection after reflection,
the single cell replicating,
the twisting helix.

The thing that is not
unlike a horse--how it must spin
as it rears its infinite heads,
how its multiplicity must pound
through its veins as a thunderous herd,
a contradiction of identical hooves.

What is this burden of being? - -
Not even like an old pack mule
can it tumble to its knees at the last
dry creek and say, "Finally, the end."
"No," the hand with the whip says, "again."

Leaving

Two people are clinging like bats,
curled, their ribs press towards
their backs, and their soft flesh falls
towards the center. Their bellies
pour into the bowl of their hips,
their chests heave and tongues
stir the milk that runs
from their lips. Waves
and shivers, the heat, the air
coils through their eyes
and their feet rake the sand.
One says, "I'm dying." The other,
"Look at my hand." The lines
are moving, fingers quiver
as if they are strings
on a small violin, as if
they are trying to fly
from a limb and lose
the long pull of the bow
that stings their red skin.

Two bats are losing their grip,
their thin nails grasp at their ribs,
and their veined wings crumple
into the tree roots, then shuffle
away, brushing the yellowed
ankles of winter, leaving
the branches to their own
bare music--the sound
of horsehair on wind.

______________

ANNALYNN HAMMOND's first book, Dirty Birth, was the winner of Sundress publications' First Annual Book Contest and will be available in spring 2004. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Gargoyle, Can we have our ball back?, Diagram, Failbetter, The Paumanok Review and many others. She lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where The God Particle's founding editor recalls standing outside in a long line to purchase a frozen custard cone during a blizzard when he was ten years old, and is currently an assistant poetry editor with the Cream City Review.

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CONTENTS PAGE