I whiled and wintered
where your mouth
ambled with me
spit-clean
desirous of a ruin
that covers
itself
birched and buried
prey-bird
taken
in false fall piles of leaves
I color, burn
in the back baring of your throat
yellow & read to me
as I hear that death
in a chest
broken-breasted
and sucking
until I am a shambles
slapped several times
in the courtyard
of the Hotel Sans Souci

Husbandry

Light folded the windowpanes
the leaking moon brought wide,
my love came straight and crumbling
from a floor, seed lined,

and barn.
The smell of evening,
and whispers,
the cattle at the breath hour.

Reserved,
best wrapped and kept in brine

hand moving to throat in the marbled quiet.

Hold, take, tap, break

If you were wondering why the lovely, pale, delicately, fragrant…..If you
were wondering.

Kneel, weep, pray,
the hands, working in

the grain, vigorous.

Fibonaccis

Fibonaccis—lies Italian children tell to get out of math class
Defense statistics—the idea a number is needed
Sentiment—material deposited by water, wind, or ice
Glacier—one who creates see-through partitions
Café—an afternoon broken, in window, in gray rain
Plate tectonics—the science of clean-up after a Greek dinner,
                        the valley cut into grids
Croupier—the one who rakes / English dialect: Croup-
               to cry hoarsely / French: One who rides behind
               another on a horse (obsolete)
Armistice—eating tulips from some beautiful northern country

Fibonaccis first appeared in the Summer 2006 issue of Barrow Street

Bergen Hutaff has published poetry in Barrow Street and has been a finalist in Winning Writers War Poetry Contest. She is a former member of the Chicago Board of Trade and now lives in New York City.

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