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)
OVUNQUE SIAMO 