Two Poems by Molly Sutton Kiefer
On the first day, a physical therapist
opened with exercises, explaining the imbalance
of the hips, coaxing us to the edges
of our seats, the men too, arms winging back,
imaginary breasts hovering, milk-ducts straining.
Her plastic pelvis held aloft, she spoke of sheering
strain, of the way we ladies would hip stance,
would balance ourselves on the spools of our feet,
would change the diameter of our bodies.
The baby needs a cave to creep out from,
a way for pelvis to splay, a safe net,
and out will fly bats in streams on vetted wings.
“Things to do Around my Uterus”
after Gary Snyder
You’ve learned how to express urine now, so join fluid to fluid.
Flutter like gas bubbles, pistons.
Flutter again as laughter meets skin.
Unweb the finer digits.
Find that you no longer resemble an uncooked prawn or eerie bobblehead with skull outweighing all else.
Search for light. Find none.
Wait and float. Float a bit more.
Listen for a slow sound like sandpaper or the surf, from floor to roof, roof to floor. This is my hand, stroking the Buddha of my belly.
Molly Sutton Kiefer’s chapbook The Recent History of Middle Sand Lake won the 2010 Astounding Beauty Ruffian Press Poetry Award. Her work has appeared in Wicked Alice, Breakwater Review, Permafrost, and CutBank, among others. She currently lives in Minnesota with her husband and daughter, where she is at work on a manuscript on (in)fertility. More can be found at mollysuttonkiefer.com