Amendments

Cheyenne Marco

First
Speak
to me
in the
dialect of fire devouring copper.

Second
Take up
your weapons,
like
wasps.
Hide
them beneath my own skin.
Do not
surrender.

Third
Close
your arteries, your veins.
Tell me
how you will house a thousand pebbles
but
reject the stone.

You
will not shelter me from sand in the wind.

Fourth
Tell me
not to look for the unnecessary.

Hide
your concessions in a spider’s web,
knowing
I will never be able to seize
our
connection in the white maze.

Fifth
Wrap
yourself in leaves and twigs,
and
listen to the spinning of the earth,
as you
revel in the sorrys not sworn.

You
will never say them.

Sixth
You
will run as the prey though you may be the beast.

Hurry
through my pleas for water by the fireside.
I won’t
repeat them.
Prey
does not dwell at the site of a predator’s feast.

Seventh
I will
judge you,
as I
taste the individual raindrops that make up the lake.

Eighth
Value
yourself before the pride.
You
will be held for your worth,
but
remember
the
lioness does all of the hunting.

Ninth
Live in
the highest tree tops
and
enjoy the limited reign of our domain.
Remember
that your wing may break.

You
have the right to shatter.

Tenth
The
Word is yours,

and you
will

whisper
it
and
warp it

but it
will be mine.


Cheyenne
Marco grew up on a Minnesota poultry farm and finds inspiration for her writing
in her rural upbringing. She teaches at USD, works on the South Dakota Review,
does outreach for Friends of the Big Sioux River, and fantasizes about sleep.
Her works have appeared in Lake Region Review, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, and Prairie
Winds.

image

Leave a Reply