by Simone Muench
dancing girl press, 2007
About the Author:
Simone Muench is author of The Air Lost in Breathing (Marianne Moore Prize, Helicon Nine, 2000) and Lampblack & Ash (Kathryn A. Morton Prize, Sarabande, 2005). She has a collaborative chapbook Sonoluminescence with Bill Allegrezza (Dusie Press, 2007). Her poems appear(ing) in Iowa Review, Denver Quarterly, and the anthology The City Visible: Chicago Poetry for the New Century. Currently, she directs the Writing Program at Lewis University, serves on the advisory board for Switchback Books, and is an editor for Sharkforum.
from Orange Girl
|The orange-girl is generally allowed to enter an auction-store, for auctioneers are mortal, and sometimes eat oranges|
I’m stone and citrus, like policemen's wives.
you're an emerald, buried in dark clothes.
your eyes leaf, bone.
your fingers so many songs
out of tune
I have fallen out of trees singing your name; I have
fallen into your foliation
into your moth-mouth, plum-
wherever you are, I'll be white teeth,
an abandoned town, a wrapped parcel.
I’ll be a blonde in a black smock with sex
appeal, smelling of apiaries.
I’ll be a cold sea in an old war film.
I’ll be insubordinate
and seville sweet.
you’ll be long gone
though you said you’d never leave.
you said. you said. “those poor crippled orange trees”