Anna Morrison
Neanderthal Flute
i will place my salty fingers to her punctures my mouth will coax a moaning note through the want in her rustic throati will place my salty fingers to her punctures if she will be the instrument
i will place my salty fingers to her punctures because i caught sight of her orient
i will place my fingers to her punctures when i no longer fear men for then i won’t tremble to unbutton her shirts
i will place my fingers to her punctures when i can conjure up a nimbus to adorn her crew cut
i will place my salty fingers to her punctures if her stem-thin lips come courting
i wait and flatten
if i place my salty fingers to her punctures, she will complete her wall-sketch: a lion’s head above a hawk that bares a beak-length equal to its
wing’s breadth
with my fingers to her punctures, i press the six holes in a line that she chiseled into my thighbone hair-mussing tantrums make us a matted
constellation – the raven and red,
the crow and the fox, a bleeding bear
i must learn to bribe the moon to be her teepee no brick-walled building could endure her trembling
i will place my salty fingers to her punctures when she bristles by the fire and when wall paintings of soot, berry juice, and blood inspire
and distress her
i shall place my fingers to her if she hands over: a filed fragment of a leopard’s femur
a snake husk torn to shreds
and a once-aching half of her tooth
she will give these because the blood bramble of her eagle yearns to shriek
and she will refuse all pleas for mercy
also, may she touch me
i will place my salty fingers to her punctures of the hand that ignites my body: lavic is its touch