TWILIGHT SUMMER

Choose this fern, circle-carved from soil, 
hold it up to stars poking their heads, say 
cut through the veil with your hands, 
understudy your daughter if you have one, 

hold it up to stars poking their heads,
say nothing of background stars filling uncut chances, 
would understudy your daughter if you have one. 
The longer you stand in the open a bargain is run 

say nothing of background stars filling uncut chances, 
department store sky with wrinkled shirt upon shirt. 
The longer you stand in the open a bargain is run, 
women’s hours rumble to find a child of cloth, 

department story sky, wrinkled shirt upon shirt. 
Escalator chunk chunk metal stairs up and down, says
In exile you will simmer then burn, take your leave. 
You hold the fern to the cold bedtime sky, ask 

In exile will you simmer then burn, take your leave, 
cut through the veil with your hands? 
You hold the fern up to the cold bedtime sky. 
You chose this fern, circle-carved from soil. 

Laurel Benjamin is a Cider Press Review Book Award finalist. She is active with the Bay Area Women’s Poetry Salon, curates Ekphrastic Writers, and is a reader for Common Ground Review. Current and upcoming publication: Mocking Heart Review, Lily Poetry Review, Cider Press Review, Taos Journal of Poetry, Gone Lawn, Nixes Mate, Pirene’s Fountain. A Pushcart Prize nominee, Laurel holds an MFA from Mills College. She invented a secret language with her brother.