Two Poems by Samantha Cramer

Braising Bones

I have always wished to be a collection

of bones,

skin, and tightened

sinew- cleaner, harder:

rock star hipbones and ivorykeyed ribs,

jangle of cartilage, and 

calcium.

This body, my echoes-

monstermyth of my own

devising, 

hellfire warning-banner hair.

If I gave you my heart, how would you eat it?

Minced thin, braised in butter

and thyme-

or raw, with only the copper

blood, and salt

to taste.

I am beginning to like the meat

of me-

the space it allows me to fill,

tender, and rounded, and

whole.

---

Rough-Hewn Time

A fox cries out like a woman

with a knife at her throat

Wild things know only death

Inside, I weep at the bulky farm table

with Neruda and his infinite

woman, scent of twisted pines

and distance.

The moon is a fever-struck boy 

dying for love

Ripe breath-holding moment before                                                   

disintegration, and art is

the specter in the hall, red lips to hide

a rictus grin.

Beauty is not my friend

The mother knows this,

tiny feet dance umbilical

tribal circles around the bonfire

of her belly-

and even this, a slow unravelling.

---

Samantha has been in love with poetry since she stole her mother’s old college textbook of English poetry from the bookshelf at age 10. Poetry speaks to her of the archaeology of the psyche, the strata of loneliness and desire inside all of us, and the equally strong ache to be fully seen. Samantha is a Northern California native, and her work has been featured in deLuge Literary Journal, Wild Roof Journal, and La Piccioletta Barca, among others.