Miranda Along The Jetty

by Joshua Davis

Stars cork the dark. I yank the corks, one by one:
blood and milk, blood and milk. 

Mares climb out of the foam, their manes smooth as ink. 
When I touch them, they reel. The wave glint, the grit. 

Gull cry, cinder light, a constellation of sand fleas,  
a woman whose skin is the color of mine in summer.

The woman's mouth traces shapes I don't know. 
She cuts a lock of her own hair.  

The lock twists and lengthens, rooting into the earth. 
Leaf-saddled branches stretch wide and high, 

so I climb. I could pluck the moon
and carry home that bright fruit.

Joshua Davis lives and writes in Oxford, Mississippi. Asked his opinion of the outcome of a quite specific prize fight, he replies, "In a poetry cage-match between Shakespeare and Sappho, Sappho would win. Shakespeare wouldn't even be able to look Sappho in the eye, let alone beat her in a fight."

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