~
Am I imaginary?! Subtle pocket
arcing like a cough. My throat is the same as my hands: epistolary on the beaks
of birds—
I am an archive
of song.
I have infinite ears
& abdomens.
Am toothless
like a dry rag.
Like a petal.
Am weightless
without mooring. Pregnant with wishes. An essence
of pollen. Brisk
nudge at the ankles. Citizen-full as a trashcan. I am looped & licking
at the nightshades.
I use my palms to split the day.
To confuse the oxeyes!
To sneak
into your shirts.
To carry your material across landscapes.
I am a vehicle
for the fruit fly.
The breath
before the word.
I share my bed
with another kind
of silence.
I aim to be
a reminder. A round thought—
I fixate on the manuscripts
of geese I push along the sky
in cursive. On the lovers embracing against my lips. I count each unfinished lilac on the rafts of my tongues.
In the morning I watch the gardener carry water in his hands as he replaces death with life & life with death.
I watched Etel’s butterfly fall between stones & I’ve carried shadows over both their bodies now. Have taken ancient walks along vines & vanes.
& I address you: centuries
of literature saying my name: It’s true!
I am with your Vallejo in the afternoon,
your Tsvetaeva & Ritsos, your sweet Valentine, we are moving flowers. We are composing mingled lisps over each new day—
(Just yesterday
I was again plainer than language, shifting the hair
of someone in love across her own mouth.)
I am a prompt or a narrow cue…
I will open
my eyes against your eyes—
—
Natalie Stamatopoulos is a Greek-American writer and textile artist based in Minneapolis. Other works have appeared in Funny Looking Dog Quarterly, 叵CLIP Magazine, Ursus Americanus Press, No, Dear, Slanted House Journal, Ctrl + V, The Paris/Atlantic, and elsewhere. Natalie holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. She lives with her partner and their beloved dog, Bean.