pilots...

the bee told me

just where to stand

to see the universe 

unfold

the envelope told me 

just where to read 

to hear the mountain

groan

the leaf told me
just how to turn
to make gravity
let go

the pebble told me
just how to splash
to glide into the
flow



Lucy Meskill

advance...

for pigs languishing in crates
I push the world for you
for cows who roil in filth
I push the world for you
for ducks who are force-fed
I push the world for you
for sharks who are de-finned
I push the world for you
for dogs forced to fight in pits
I push the world for you
for elephants de-tusked
I push the world for you
for goats shoved out of towers
I push the world for you
for chickens ground to death
I push the world for you
for bulls who are made to fight
I push the world for you
for insects poisoned by avarice
I push the world for you
for every thing that suffers
at the hands of human greed
I push the world, in words,
for you...

lucy meskill

image: Coruscate, lucy meskill, 2012

that great tribe

gratitude for the profusion

of necessary momentary fragments

whose small composites find strength in union

to take lazy possession of the soil

wafted washed dropped or flung

as the quickening of ovules

downward, with heavy rains

from the overhanging bank, flood

the only inducement offered

from the dissolving rain is respite

for these less than weary travelers
in the sweet red-scented sublime clay

Lucy Meskill

warm boot

Mercury spins up

to the music of the hum

I pray for every vessel

that will continue to hold water

and for every vessel

that will not

I stand

before the screened window

the wind parted curtains belly out

to release last night's swelter

I tether what is useful

to my heart, mind and soul

and let the cool wind bear the rest away...

Lucy Meskill

morass

the meat was tough

the table was dirty

the server was hard

the cook was angry

the roadway was packed

the people were rushed

the day was too long

the night was too short

and somewhere a lamb bleats

a music as soft as silk for its mother

sensing the inevitable wave

lucy meskill

wasp

he fell
           where he was landing

as one leg flew off
clutched

in the bright yellow beak of a starling



lucy meskill

photo credit: Des Cannon

nipple

the moon is weaning fireflies

gently in the dark of night—

the day pulses in and out

breath like a cooling iron

graveolent of everything

it wilted and steamed flat today

beneath the withering stare

of august's glaring sun—

glimmering like diamonds

they drop eggs and rise...

lucy meskill