Issue # 14 : January - June 2011

Annah Browning

Joan of Arc in the New World
Anniversary
Holy Ghost

Joan of Arc in the New World

In the morning I return again
            and again. Wearing

no hair. The children do not
            know me. They reach out

and touch my hands.
            The metal over them

is fear. I ride all morning
            on a horse. I let him carry

me. I ask him, is this where
            you wanted to go

and he says, yes. The trees are full
            of poisonous fruit.

The parrots flicker like candles.
            I tell him, this place

already belongs to God. A snake
            bites my leg, there’s a whistle—

there’s somebody saying,
            the whole world does.

Anniversary

Sometimes, you fall in love
            with the man who killed

you. You want to be close
            to him. You want to feel

and fondle his ears. They are
            slow divers, floating

down the hill in dusk. They are
            coins going to the bottom

of an ocean. They were coins
            you wanted to spend.

Holy Ghost

How the world fell
            from your arms like

so much fruit. Look, the flesh
            calls to you, the grass

teems with things, little clots
            knocked loose, they sing

to you, as I do, too— I cross
            my arms above my chest—

your fingers left me stroked
            among the mushrooms,

the hole in the hill where you
            tucked me, said, come

again, soon dear, we will have
            to come again, soon.