Terri Witek Poems

The tiny scene's in 'concert'
but it's silent—they're just trying
...

She remembers her mouth before it made things,
how she practiced being thirsty
until she could lick her hands like kittens,
...

Think how sky swaths every head like a turban.
In houses it breaths via furnace or air conditioning.
Be more technical still: down + up = up.
...

Maybe the last time you tried them on
they somehow galled or grounded you.
It's certain that when you hung them up
(you'd also been trying to sleep lanternless)
...

The economy of this Sebastian's in the arrows:
they've stopped at the contoured edge of flesh
as if Durer meant to martyr someone else
...

Remember, forests have mastered this game,
so while they gather up fireflies,
whisper like rain.
...

How, when warblers ducked
for a day's stippled seeds
did she forget,
tie her kimono right over left,
...

The world was at its end again.
The houses all wore hats of fire.
We couldn't find each other.
...

In pictures, each floats the sky alone,
its surface marked by steri-strips:
a mole becomes a knob-headed pin,
...

At 6° under speak only with kindness.
At 12° trust buoys to gather the port.
At 18° swing doubt through its usual cold orbit.
...