ELIZABETH BODI

Blood upon the snow


Once, a time in the middle when feathers
sat black against a window frame.  After

           a beautiful woman: look truth in the hour, envy
high in her heart like a weed.  Take

the forest longer, kill a token
           back to life, wild again.  Devoured? 

A stone rolled from a longer need to salt
           the heart white, alone and sharp.  No harm

until rest was small, covered with mountains
and a lying heaven.  Lovely child       frightened into dwelling

alone.  None astounded knew falsely that betrayal was alive
again, for so long – no rest dressed cheap,

laces of color and fright.  Quickly, tightly lost down,
seemed lifted:             breathe again.  In front of the glass,

see blood rushed, hair down in fell beauty
lying upon suspect.  None so well with rage,

white where a woman cut in two: red cheek, white –
cunning mouth, dreadful laugh, a loud

            envious rest.  With wine wept pretty,
red dark glass from all sides, ebony.  Live     without the dearest:

possession spoke in pity, carried on shoulders
over shock-white throats lifted           alive, full of willing

splendor.  Bidden to herself in beautiful glass:
a curse, red-hot, dropped down.


  
156  The Paris-American

Elizabeth Bodi is an English adjunct at Northern Virginia Community College and a George Mason University poetry MFA graduate.  She currently lives in Northern VA.  Her work can be seen in Booth, Cobalt, Painted Bride Quarterly, and is forthcoming in Sou’Wester and The Golden Key.

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  Next week's poet:

 Greg WrennJJCCCACc