Mahealani Campbell

Tide dancing

From a vast suburban lawn for the dead,

I dig you up,

my pickaxe 

pressing into

compact dirt.

On my back,

I carry you 

into the windswept air 

of a wooden cart.

I seek a different rest for you.

At the river’s edge,

I push you

feet first; palms open

the gentle thrust 

of your limbs 

surrender.

The slip of the water

feels a fitting home

for bones.

Your wrists bend round rocks,

ankles tumbling past fish.

You are movement

and wildness.

A body free to weave.

Triple Goddess Specter

One is celluloid and gardenias

siren song and fear

sets fire to what needs burning

Two is silent, staring

worried hands clasped in her lap

desperation falling from her fingertips

Three, a faceless mermaid

floats in my DNA

her cypher womb echoes

long dead grandmothers 

overwrought

sit in circle between

my clavicle 

and sternum

pressing their complaints 

into my flesh

I am pin cushion 

red and itchy

They require:

bottles of rye

Victrola records

kelp pods

pulling needles 

from my chest

my refrain:

I will not be your ghost

when I could be my own