Standing at a sturdy table
in the sunlit back yard,
she splits tough green fibers,
xylem and phloem bursting
in her fingers.
Which are not shaking anymore.
She disassembles the living structures:
petal, corolla, leaf, stalk, thorn.
Lays them down,
precise and orderly,
like the parts of a cleaned gun.

In a stone bowl,
she pulverizes every one
under a stone heel.
Sifts and pours
the bright dust
into a glass jar,
draws onto its label
the shape of Leo Minor:
the little lion, jaws
still adolescent
but ready to puncture.

Elizabeth Galoozis

 

Elizabeth Galoozis is a poet and librarian living in Los Angeles. Her poetry has been published in Faultline. Her scholarly and critical work has been published in The Library Quarterly, In the Library with the Lead Pipe, Amherst Magazine, and ACRL Press.

© 2019