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About this poet

Monica Ferrell is the author of the poetry collection Beasts for the Chase (Sarabande Books, 2008), which won the Kathryn A. Morton Prize in poetry.

Anatomy

Monica Ferrell
Man shaped out of mud
And made to speak and love—
Let's stick in him a little whisperer,

A bucket with two holes.
Let's give him the Great Deceiver,
A blood-stone.

A church with a vaulted ceiling
Where the White and Blue Niles meet.
A dog who cries after dark.

Everyone has a heart,
Even the people who don't.
It floats up like a beached whale in the autopsy.

The heart has no sense of humor.
It offers itself piteously like a pair of handcuffs,
And is so clumsy that we turn away.

The past 
Is a quarryful of marble statues
With heads and genitals erased,

But the heart is a muscle made of sharkbone and mutters,
Resting place softened with hay
Where all the cows come home, finally.

Copyright © 2012 by Monica Ferrell. Used with permission of the author.

Copyright © 2012 by Monica Ferrell. Used with permission of the author.

Monica Ferrell

Monica Ferrell is the author of the poetry collection Beasts for the Chase (Sarabande Books, 2008), which won the Kathryn A. Morton Prize in poetry.

by this poet

poem
You need me like ice needs the mountain 
On which it breeds. Like print needs the page.
You move in me like the tongue in a mouth,
Like wind in the leaves of summer trees,
Gust-fists, hollow except for movement and desire
Which is movement. You taste me the way the claws
Of a pigeon taste that window-ledge on
poem

There is nothing beautiful here
However I may want it. I can’t
Spin a crystal palace of this thin air,
Weave a darkness plush as molefur with my tongue
However I want. Yet I am not alone
In these alleys of vowels, which comfort me
As the single living nun of a convent
Is comforted