Isaiah 54:5 (A Self-Portrait)
by Kari Ann Ebert
He packed up the years in one suitcase
at summer’s bloom left everything undone
I stood still & wooden in the empty yard
exhausted by the sudden drought
The grass is too high now
Midsummer sun paints its lacquer
on my temples on my lip and neck
I’ve waited until tall blades bare their teeth
snap at my kneecaps
The anyone-can-do-it-
just-start-her-up-and-go instructions he left
fester under my tongue like vinegar
I turn the key flinch at its growl
The rider all rusty & rife with demons
lurches down the lawn chews out a row
so straight so sure of itself
until the sputter & grind wind down to a stop
refuse to budge another inch
The heat rises overwhelms me with its tide
Fury crawls up my spine I take a swing at the sky
My Maker My Creator
You promised to be my holy husband in his stead
yet it is I alone who pulls at the sludge wrestles with the ancient blade
slices my finger open like his mother’s cherry cheesecake
You promised to redeem the time to make it mine once more
yet the moth and locusts return each harvest
all that remain are weeds & serpents’ nests
all that remains is this rage
Hearing no response I fall to the ground
Clippings & sweat form a sheen cover my skin like jade
I sit in the lotus position as still as stone
listen as the breeze rustles across the short path I made
Winner of the 2018 Gigantic Sequins Poetry Contest, Kari Ann Ebert’s poetry appeared or is forthcoming in Mojave River Review, Gravel, The Broadkill Review, and Gargoyle among others. She is working on her first poetry collection, Alphabet of Mo(u)rning. Kari lives in Delaware and has two children who also write.