Burden of Proof
Daniella Jo
after Sappho
“Little is known of her life” each one begins,
demanding evidence, doubting her
glut of testimony: the strung-up
fibers she left for us to find.
For myself, I submit to the jury:
poultices of crabapples and mud,
cattails bursting into my sticky hands
their million seedlings, and my spiral-bound
book of remedies - blue, laminated,
sun-bleached under a film of dirt and sweat.
Also a collection of quartz
pulled from the churned earth, cleaned
with my spit, and hundreds
of dried flowers, languishing now
in landfills throughout the tristate area.
Not that witchy children are
always lesbians, but, sometimes
correlation is causation, at least
the hours of birdwatching definitely did
something. In my case, I’m
joyful and guilty of longing for her soft
shoulders, to smooth and press my hand
flat into the folds everywhere, but
especially at her hips.
18
Cauldron Anthology