Stacy Nigliazzo

Stacy Nigliazzo

 

Dusk

We sign papers permitting natural death.

I read aloud words underlined in red

from The Hiding Place.

          

Her lungs won’t last the day,

yet still,

they rise         

and each breath

 

is a prayer,

      a lily in the rose water of my chest—

my chest—    

cleaved from her own skin.

The sun is a golden pitcher tipped to earth,

                empty

                                        as it sets.

She is the cup.

 

 

Prophet

You can surrender your baby, up to 60 days old, to any nurse at any hospital in Texas

without fear of punishment…

                                                        (Safe Haven Law)      

1.

She held him as he curled beneath her rib,

                                                                    and later,

as he pushed through water   

for air;

and later still,             

       

handed him across the desk—

 

heavy

in her howling arms.

2.

Moses split the Red Sea,       

first,

born of woman,

and again        

from a bulrush womb in the Nile River.

                                                                            The black cord still woven in his belly.

 

 

Convulsion, Thirteen Months Old

Burst            of breath         

like spring

rain,              slack

leaf     

skittering,     gallop

of green,       whir              of bees,

                      

eyes—

clock—

          

hands—

unwound—

blackberry thorn,

crouched fiddleback.

 

 

Stacy R. Nigliazzo’s debut poetry collection, Scissored Moon, was published in 2013 by Press 53. It was named Book of the Year by the American Journal of Nursing. It also placed as a finalist for the Julie Suk Poetry Prize (Jacar Press) and the Texas Institute of Letters First Book Award for Poetry/Bob Bush Award. (srnigliazzo.com)

 

 

 

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