Poem by Molly Bendall

She Resumes Her Habit                                                                  


It’s too beautiful to smear the weather,
and the proof she had 
whipped the air 
around, shoved her 
to her knees, tuning the disarmed 
neighborhood to static.  
Sometimes I prefer that notion 
of the future:  news of the crumbling 
structures, the sea within earshot.
Burning sugar teases and 
uncurls out into the street.
The new logic flits around inside 
the hummingbird’s gut.
When she reads it, she feels 
anxiety’s medal clip on.
As the shields go up, 
lines form around the corner.

Because then 
it’s architecturally interesting--
public life stays 
suspect.  Maybe she has 
her lion’s share now,
the bazaar opening with bins 
of scarves lighting the city.
As she embarks, the boats turn, 
slight birds circle them,
but I had no idea she sold 
her version for so little.
Snapping hooks on our ears, we read 
aloud from earth’s orbit.
We post the maritime reports, 
dead weight on our cheeks.

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Molly Bendall is the author of five collections of poetry: After Estrangement, Dark Summer, Ariadne’s Island, Under the Quick, and most recently Watchful from Omnidawn. She also has a co-authored with the poet Gail Wronsky Bling & Fringe from What Books.  Her poems and reviews have appeared in many anthologies and journals, such as American Hybrid, New American Writing, Denver Quarterly, Free Verse, Lana Turner, Pool, and Volt. She teaches at the University of Southern California.  

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