← v6n2, Fall 2007
Poetry · Volume 6, Number 2

After Hanging Mao Posters

All night her mind prepared like a

tilled field—

not a thing missing but a lake that

glows

like a wolf’s eye. Thighs, hair,

shrieks,

a toeless foot dragging itself.

The red

poppies open and close, like little

mouths.

Waiting to fill and empty out the

next

person with its scent. Something is

about

to. Something is always about

to.