HARD WHISKEY LULLABY

by Kallima Hamilton  

Lone wolf and a loose woman horse

around after the bars close late, sit

under a howling moon, eat the flesh

of cutthroat trout on the blue banks

edging Whitefish River where loons

at the lake eek-out crazy cries of longing.

Rockets’ red glare—their ferocious fight

wrenching freedom from the star-black

sky. Smoke curls like question marks

in the chill of night when ghosts turn

marble, fend off looters and fill the trees

with hard sounds, haunting moans. Time

to go home, be among the wild grasses,

feel the wet earth, study solitude as

a giant stone, lick wounds, down whiskey.

DON QUIXOTE: VAQUERO DE MI CORAZON

by Kallima Hamilton

The fretful concubine
Said, "Phooey! Phoo!"
--Wallace Stevens, "Anything Is Beautiful if You Say It Is"

Don't call me Dulcinea--the neighbors mock your sweetness
and already I'm the envy
of every girl in the Cathouse.

You make me blush,
intoxicant with your voice
like fine French chocolate. Charge windmills for me
(I will be your blonde envoy).

You slay the giants
and slake the thirst of dry old maidens.
Red-brick roofs grow hot;
I swelter under pomegranate skies.

Douse me with chivalry, that
green romance,
noble knight. Craze me
at midnight with the dulcet petty (pretty!) lies

of misperception: anything is beautiful if you say it is.

We live in a transformative time.
Kiss me & I shape-shift
into gold Sheba, cream-skinned and balmy with love.
There's truth in the power of the spoken word:

touch me and I'm a she-Lazarus inside the reddened rose,
inside the dewy body of the dawn.

ANGELS & COYOTES

by Kallima Hamilton

Leonid meteors pepper the western sky
where eagle chicks hide in the belly of pine.
Smoke signs gone, I'm
confused by the strong shaman dust
of old peyote buttons and broken bones.
The pain
of lonely cloud whisperers
is echoing their silence with arrows of forever.
Here, along tear-stained trails,
angels & coyotes
dance hungrily
high on the ridge, moon-drunk, howling.
Vision quest, shape shift,
our minds luminous from fasting,
we see through vast canyons of stars,
straight to the heart of Earth Mother
who lives on this dangerous rim.
Some strange ghost glitters
at the far edge of lodge pole, skims
sage, speaks vaguely about rain
for blue corn. Caught between
flesh and earth, we shudder under
shadows of loose feather and stone.

SAPPHO IN THE KITCHEN

by Kallima Hamilton

Repetition and toil, slaves enough
but the woman in me grows fond of dishes
and something central

sends me back into baking and brooms
in this room lit with sun and cinnamon.

A blue fire burns at the core of me,
each poem of love buffed over sudsy water.
Too often I dream of your ankles.

The soufflé sinks. Still, I go on
with my island view dotted by dolphins.

The universe curves like a green slice of melon.
We observe our need to nest

and nourish. Let me rub sunflower oil
on your belly, give you tonic juiced with lime.

All I can do is recite the syllables of your name,
become entangled in the blonde glass of your wild hair.

This wood table anchors me with roses and grape hyacinth,
these words become the fresh bread of our long afternoons.

Soon, sundown will turn in its coppery shadows
and my ache, like a thing possessed, will wander for its form
until you return with apricots, sweet plums.