Animals Near Drowning
​

dive, splash against one another, gasp at the side of the pool, drink each other in, open, close, and clasp, undo
the world so we can do it up again.
 
Whatever fate you find underwater will follow you on dry land, will dog your steps, will mine your harbors.
 
A still life shows how your photographic memory moves. Dust beneath the selva.
 
That high structure with its sheer rock face apologizes
to the other sex for its soft inner layer, bleeding
gently, against the apparent barrier. You leave me
climbing the walls, asking, Why
would you do that, with your precipice
folding onto itself?
 
 
I notice a gray dove standing on the eaves of the house across the way this morning, as my lover and I sit beside each other on the couch just inside the window. We are not speaking to each other. Our dog is concerned, whines and tries to hide her eyes in the inside of my elbow. Please: some words! The dove jumps! (lets itself fall) It has forgotten that, before it hits the sidewalk, its wings
will unfold, and the pathetic bird will take flight,
by reflex, even if its gullet is filled with sullen rage at what happened last night. or didn’t, depending on whether you ask the dove or the dog.
 
Our genitals dream. Why wouldn’t they? They dream of cars, of horses, of deep water where there was a desert yesterday, of hills and caves. They dream the obvious. They dream of a slick, made of fossil plant life buried for millennia as the seas expand and contract or made of sand (before
it’s turned into semi-precious ornaments) which they
have purchased at a sex toy store, around the corner.
They dream of a shipwreck, settled
into the ocean floor, deeper
than diving.

​

Norma Smith has lived and worked in Oakland since the late 1960s. She's always been a writer. During most of those years, Norma worked at a straight job and focused her own time on political/solidarity work. She is now getting back to writing, including projects that have been on back burners for decades. She is putting together a book-length manuscript of poems and prose and one or two chapbooks. She is enjoying the writing scene, which has shifted beautifully since she was part of it during the 70s and 80s. Norma is just beginning to meet people who are active in new/current literary & arts journals and reading/performance series. She is delighted. And very happy to enter.