Book of Gaigemon, II. This morning you bought plants to praise your hands, stirrup leathers incase you decided to hang yourself. The heat of a body swirls when it enters another. You might go mad Wanting to resurface the dead, pull their bodies through ginning ribs, pick their shadow-bones, birth their children. A deer strangles herself on a wire. Hinges break. Door to Gaigemon opens. The hunted boy breaks the wings off bees by the red barn. Can I lick your straps, he says, what are you carrying? Burrs. Stones. The will to eat both our ears.
Shannon Elizabeth Hardwick graduated with her Masters in Fine Arts from Sarah Lawrence College in 2010. She recently completed her first full-length manuscript of essays and poetry and has a chapbook in print. She writes in New York and Texas.