To Be A Woman In Texas


so much for the self [and all her] evolutions,
to be more than a womb in a state with such
temperatured differences,  its acres of empty space
and nitrate stars—an oil field ready to
burn up all of her kind; is there even a quiet
field in this galaxy, where she could request
a new sun, one that wouldn’t hollow
out her irises, like this old emperor, where
the word “infinite” doesn’t drone on
as a climate of darkness, where a promise
collides into a comet
of another promise, from which no one
bets with the law on its origins, from which life
revolves around the ground it chooses, rips up
seeds at will.


* * *

Amanda Kimmerly is a poet, editor, and writing coach.  Her main focus right now is to become a clear channel for creative inspiration.  Meanwhile, you can locate more of her work at Full of CrowStorychordPear Noir!REAL: Regarding Arts & Letters and Arsenic Lobster. You can find her at:

Tagged with →  
Share →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>