Caroline Berry Klocksiem

Art History

Golden daisy for a mouth,
outstretched arms & palms. My heart

is like a brown mouse. My heart is
a brown mouse with bright eyes. My head is a farm

& a tractor & a machine,
an adding machine. There’s a beginning

& an end. A finger.
A mother’s wide thighs, a calculator,

a secretary, a dirty gun. My hands
are full of pollen & people.

My hands are two large volumes,
working like elevators. Look, how

they bring white birds from the sky
& take away the horseflies, & some

of those bullets. They sort the sleeves
of dreams, upset the rings

around the moons, the time-keepers.
The great watch ticks if I let it, & fires

fall limp beneath my palms. They sift
through emperors & planets,

looking for the lost & found tokens.
They sift through mass & sickness

deep at night. They love each other, they hate,
& fire off at the head. At night they rock

the fridge, looking for beer. Sometimes it feels
like I took a tundra & swallowed it,

& it keeps on hurting
here & here & here & here…