Two Poems

Poetry / Paige Lewis

Diorama of Want

I want everything.   Soft soil, a tender you,   and sunlight canoeing through   windows, deciding who to thaw   back into the big, tall     whoosh of life—flies,     bees. I want to tie a string around   your waist—for you     to adore my gentle leading.     I’m full of hunger     and whirled by visions in which     I swallow tornados     whole—some nights   I sleep with   strands of wind still   dangling from my teeth. I’ve taken so much that my hands     are heavy with having. My wants reach the ceiling. And I’m     afraid there’s   no—Oh,   no   my hard-limbed love, my tame-sigher, please        understand there’s barely even room    for me.

God Folds Up

an ocean and places it neatly on His tongue     it opens first like an accordion   then bursts back into its old ocean self             X and I scramble onto   our   boat   made   of plywood     and    milk     jugs

floating   and hungry   and pillow-less  we become severe to one another       X speaks in capital letters       I protect my jawbone     with a second jawbone     look     I tell him we will     get back     to sod whether by waltz or by wreck and     he believes me   and it’s true because he believes me     it’s simple     the rug pulled out from under us was clean        shameless         blue

Paige Lewis whose poems have appeared or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, The Massachusetts Review, The Colorado Review, and elsewhere, is the 2016 recipient of The Florida Review Editors’ Award in Poetry. Paige’s chapbook, Reasons to Wake You, is forthcoming from Tupelo Press.