FROM BLUEGRASS: GHAZALS
Yun. Slow penetration. Submission. The eldest daughter.
The roots of growing wood.
I will make a periscope telling you
exactly what happened.
Sword fern is slick with ice. You feed me
a Chinese pear. I straddle your thigh.
It snows all night. You text me:
When can I see you again?
You tell me licorice fern grows on maples. That angels
are welcomed in.
Taste this sweet root.
Here's the hexagram for swallowing—27, Yi. The firm lines
of the lips. Wide open mouth.
Having 20 litres clean water, sleeping two quiet hours, drinking cup coffee,
having some bread pieces are leisure activities in #Aleppo.
I buy a Bic the colours of the Habs. Flick it
with my thumb—blue sparks, fire.
God comes forth
in the sign of the Arousing.
Now. I open my mouth for you now.
Teach me to forage. Snow bramble. Salal.
Wild ginger, which freely roots.
Hexagram 31. Xian. Conjoining. Union.
The male is placed below the female—his repression
is her desire.
We walk across the snow and
are hours in your bed.
I am reading fragments of Sappho. 74A ...goatherd...roses...
Do you want to go on top? Put your
fingers inside me.
About the Writer
Kim Trainor’s first collection, Karyotype, appeared with Brick Books in 2015. Her next book, Ledi, a long poem narrating the discovery of an Iron Age horsewoman’s grave in the steppes of Siberia, will appear with BookThug in 2018. She lives in Vancouver.