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dana cutts

dana cutts has had her work previously appear in Stirring and SOMETIMES CITY.

1.    i am imagining heat in the
       softest place possible, in
       the turn of your neck when
       i call your name;

       in the gravity of your head
       as it grows heavy,

       drooping like flowers do
       when they're wet.

2.    i caught a rumbling

       in the pit of my stomach
       the other night and it lifted
       itself upward with one arm,

       it was heavy as sand

       consistently difficult
       throughout my body. there was
       the sudden nerve to spread,
       its fingers a warrant

       out for the arrest of my abdomen
       and everything else you can
       think of that makes me a woman.

       there was no anger

       because i knew, with each
       passing inch it took for
       me to get over inertia (with each

       circular moment stolen
       by the sharp intakes of breath) that

       behind every feeling is an
       impending attack:

       you the machete and the boat, me
       the reed and the swamp.