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Friday, November 21, 2014

Chani Zwibel: Postmodern Cassandra

WAKING

First, the needling headache behind the eyes
Allows I am awake
Sun caught in the gauzy white curtains tells
Morning and reality have merged
First, to dress oneself against the elements
Today-the cold, tomorrow, the heat

God expelled us from the Garden
To a world where we’d need
To clothe our bodies against its harshness
While Paradise bloomed in splendor the rest
Had a hard evolution –the slow birth of rocks,
The slimy ancestor crawling up from muck
The worm out of the primordial sea
To a place where our ears are beset by singing cowboys
Our culture inundated with thong panties and racecars
Until one mass-curl-crowned-wave
Curves over our heads darkly
And falls
Ocean reclaiming camera-phones, contact-lenses, favorite pets. 


WEASELS

weasels are underground, waiting.
they want skin.
weasels are snorting cocaine, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair.
weasels are fucking, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood.
weasels are performing satanic initiation rites underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle.
weasels are embezzling millions from top Fortune 500 companies, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone.
weasels are keeping toddlers in cages, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow.
weasels are snapping babies’ spines, underground, waiting.
they want skin; they want hair, they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow; they want gristle.

weasels are underground, waiting. 


Chani Zwibel spent her first 18 years in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now calls Marietta, Georgia, home.  She writes and gardens in a little red brick house. Married to Evan Butler, she and her husband are parents to a lovely blue pitbull named Loki.