Who I Met In Marrakech - Lady K

I COULD SAY WE ARE

The breath of the hog in the ear of the calf.
The flesh of the ram that aches beneath
the hooves of the horse climbing past.
The maladroit gait of the fawn with three legs,
all skin and structure amidst bodies that seep
wrong liquids, and all of it
in one place.

I could say
we are the barnyard, but I’m always wrong
when it comes to fitting reason into beauty.
We are not the barnyard, we don’t throw sticks
at the biggest of beasts and boulders on the feeble.
We don’t lose fragility in gluttonous conquest,
nor suffer it for beauty.

We only breathe down the necks of those who
happen to share our space,
until our sounds and our smells mix in
and we lose our sense of location.

We are not the barnyard, no, that’s not why
the fight is worth fighting, a thing
worthy to be seen.
We may breathe and snort and fuck
and what loves remain remain.
But I won’t think what the beasts can’t say.
Nor will I say what the beasts can’t think.
We are not the barnyard because
we can’t be just one way.

Claire Wagenseil

Laura Dumm