Eva Lipton-Ormand: Three Poems

love crowns gently

moving into transition
time is cotton-muffled
yip-yapping somewhere in the background
but held by earth squat succor
mindfulness – there is no moment with which to be more present
than when these beings want to push their way into existence
and it will never be the same
as your heart moves into deep sea exposure
to hold space for the most precious thing
you will ever be responsible for

the act can be forceful, raw, rude
mucus membranes might sustain lacerations from repetitive friction
sugar rush to heroin rush to sex rush
dopamine rules because we only consist of chemistry
arpeggioed slur – love – love
it’s when the submarine drops and sinks deeper
and it’s the undertow you feel and
there’s a foundation to keep you in place
that time stands still
not in child birthing fashion
love birthing is rose petal soft
imperceptible but for the sigh of a shift

smiling is a learned act to dispel the ache
challenge always – never ending battle
maligned too often, marginalized continuously
bereft, unbeknownst to her
until the tears rush
on a wine filled, moonful night
and loneliness doubles the pain
with bootstrap-iron will
donned like a superhero cloak
perhaps in another decade
– oh so gently –
she will birth


Karneval prohibition

They’re urging the Volk to do without the official start of Karneval
in Cologne 11/11 at 11:11

This virus is spreading like wildfire
with the insidious bite of Zyklon B given in just enough of a dose
to taint the skin but not to make it fester
Poison seeps in more effectively when introduced incrementally
that’s how arsenic is administered – to makes horses’ coats shine
how lead seeps into little ones in the disenfranchised parts
and decimates the geisha’s face from decades of application

May the SS rogues appropriate it once again
we’ll see how Germania reacts to opposing parties hanging off each tit
they’re using the terminology of war
western sensibility demands it

How would in less militaristic terms
a call to arms look?
A cloud of bats approaches, don masks, and let them pass gently
for we have stolen their habitat


real ballerinas

they look frail but are strong
tendon and muscle pop out through parchment skin
spinous processes form landmarks
anatomy students would revel to use as mnemonics
don’t do sit-ups on the bare floor or the bruises will show
no officer, not domestic abuse
but when even at your most anorexic
you don’t meet the criteria forthe ballet body
the odds are against you
and “we’re not in the wild west,” where bulk counts for more
that’s for modern dancers, ugly duckling ballerinas

real ballerinas
were Kafka’s starving artists who stood in the wings
pawned off to Degas-white-fat-men
girls pimped by their destitute mothers

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