Steve Klepetar: Two Poems

tookerm —  February 8, 2012 — Leave a comment

The Girl Who Spread Her Wings

Eyebright she moved into moon
light, from shadows

gripped by gravity’s waves.
Long swim through this sea of night.

In her black hair, sparkling
stars. Silver rings shone, dangling

from ears and everywhere

played around her eyes
and the bones of her face

and she drank darkness
that rich wine on her tongue

as her shoulders

rolled, muscles massaged
into leathery

A leap and she took

in the clearing, soared

above hemlock and birch
and willow at the river’s edge

the girl who spread her wings

transformed before day
could swallow her body again.

Woman in a Cart

She stands with hair ablaze, wind
scattering smoky strands.

All around the limbless crowd
gapes, grey and timid and afraid.

Horses shiver and stamp, strange
fleshy dance of flanks and breath.

The captain in white won’t meet
her gaze, stares at his half-drawn

sword, dull in the thin, pale light
of failing afternoon. Soldiers blow

into their hands, wind ripples a flag
with stars and silver crescent moons.

Her eyes burn in cold winter sun.
She rides, a painted icon through

the rutted street, gold-flecked
and gesturing, conducting currents

with her snow-white hands.
This is her beauty and the spell

she hurls at everything sold and stolid
and left behind to die:

a wordstorm, a crystal fog of hail,
a window shattering in that frozen air.

Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University in Minnesota. His work has received several Pushcart nominations and his chapbook, Thirty-six Crows, was recently published by erbacce press.

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