Martha Marcy

I will drink a Bloody Mary
with the aroma of tomatoes,
turn on my plasma TV
with useless news
...

A fleeting fantasy,
an outburst of love
radiant as Greek myth.
To wake from the haze of sleep
...

Trees nourish hearts,
and I dyed my hair with the paint of their bark.
Like in Chinese fairy tales,
I don't eat bird nests
...

Stones splattered with mud,
the night cold upon the earth, barefoot,
I walk on muddy,
cold stonesI miss the scent of your perfume,
...

One winter, I noticed a migrant black crow,
arrived from a distant foreign land,
from my balcony
it was sitting and watching the gray crows,
...

I remember those nights when my mother read me fairy tales,
I would fall asleep in clean white sheets,
dreaming dreams
outside, the wind swayed the branches.
...

It rains, and children, in rubber boots,
walk into the deepest puddles.
It rains the grass grows wet,
and my feet burn, for they are bare.
...

Boiled plum jam,
and the wind took away my hat.
In the morning,
when I spread black plum jam on toast,
...

Tall cliffs covered with tiny yellow flowers,
a sky painted violet,
and the scorching sun of summer.
We walk to the spring to drink fresh water.
...

Fly away black bird, perhaps you'll encounter a carcass or someone kind will offer it to you.

You'll hide in the dry bushes with food, Your black feathers will flutter in the wind, satisfied and full, your body will heavily descend again to the ground.
...