Tara Gilbert-Brever
DIVINITY IS FOR ANGELS
Laura lusts
for the ancient cities
-- How long is the rope
of Rome?
Dena lost
her plane tickets
-- It shared Mary's cord
with Jesus
-- they always smoke
in Dena's car; it has a sunroof.
This is how they always arrive,
in mustard sarong and holey
short shorts, flip-flops and nearly-
wood clogs,
to the Tuesday beach --
they're not residents,
so they always lie
to get in for free.
They always pray
in church,
but never by the lake,
over their Subway
clubs. Laura is deliberate,
a nibble, her doll-
mouth hardly moving.
Dena is action,
a gulp, her mouth a twist
of machinery.
They never read
their paperbacks, it's too much
of a squint. They sit too close
to the tide; they tug at their bikini
bottoms to cover what they forgot
to shave. Laura always wavers
in the wake that Dena
parts; their hair
deserts them for the seaweed,
their breasts are chained in lake-water.
They never saw
anything like it. One day, parking lot:
three men, maybe brothers,
tread past, and on the hill they began,
their hands smooth knives,
spreading out the beach
towels to perfection.
There they were a transport,
their knees a door, all the way
to some far temple and back by chant--
Laura longs
for these men-angels,
all of them tabernacles,
-- There is a God!
Dena left
her trust
to a smaller carton,
-- Yeah, He's in my back pocket.
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Date of Birth:
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December 26, 1977
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Location:
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Union Grove Wisconsin
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Email:
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Yourwildhorses77@aol.com
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Occupation:
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Student, Assistant Poetry Editor at Eclectica
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Publications:
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Eclectica, Primavera, Stirring, Poems Niederngasse, Wicked Alice, Blind Man's Rainbow, artisan, Copious, etc.
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