fugitive: sodden

sponge in full bucket
no hands to wring me

………….bring me

………….ears filling

…………………….to the smell of toast
…………………….dry knife     dry table

how can i know

…………goosebumps drowning     who
…………the turning to     turns

…………………….streambed and salamander

night never breaks but falls

………..body a wet tent

the god i wouldn’t give a capital g to

………….knows i’m the clot of leaves
………….too soon to warm from rot

…………………….knows too that i’m the gutter

fugitive: setting the table

often just rock
where i place my fork
perfect rough

on a good day      level

and then drink
and pot of food

glow of lichen

finally salt and pepper
dented shakers
it takes spice to survive

were i to be shaken the same would fall out
brine and flecks of fire

also the hard-hewn hope
of honey

fugitive: broken …..or hatched

robin’s eggshell on the ragged road
…………broken     or hatched
……………………either way
……………………………….sky with cloud inside

how can there be so much to know
………….even at rest under night’s damp robe
……………………..even hightailing another road
………………………………..every blue     every why

i am wet and lost and new
………….somewhere my family
…………………….finds my jagged shell
………………………………..fingers the dark smear     and wonders

they peer
………….just as i do now
…………………….cold-sweating as the crazed shell
………………………………..gives way against the palm

____

Lisa Roullard has work forthcoming in Sugar House Review, The Sunlight Press, and TAB Journal. Her chapbook, An Envelope Waiting, was published in 2020. She also writes for children.