Lesley Wheeler

For Metamorphosis, with Bibliomancy

WITH A LINE FROM NIGHTINGALE BY PAISLEY REKDAL

This is the season for transmutation. Change
began some time ago: electrical storms,
dreams grinding slow like brass gears. An icebox 
sighs; you’re grateful. Around each bruise, each sign 
inscribed in purple and teal, a halo forms. 
You rattle dice and roll seventeen. What 
could that mean—almost woman and certainly
prey? Rattle the news but your horoscope is blank. 
Rattle a song and a person falls out, a fleshy 
hag in linen pants, near enough you catch 
her stink. The woman stands, straightens, and you 
see her mouth thin to a not unpleasant line…
Well, you wanted monstrousness. Leathery
rind unwinding. This is the season for transmutation.

 

Lesley Wheeler’s newest books are The State She’s In, her fifth poetry collection, and Unbecoming, her first novel. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Massachusetts Review, The Common, Ecotone, Gettysburg Review, and other journals. Poetry editor of Shenandoah, she lives in Virginia and blogs about poetry at lesleywheeler.org.

 
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