The Fieldstone Review


Dittrick Medical History Center, Cleveland

Wheels, whisks, wishbones,
silhouette of a tiny pine.

Birds in flight and fiddlehead ferns.
The uterus is a magic place:

dark as a cave, it accommodates
any shape we insert:

circles and snakes, beetles
and bows, fossils and fleurs de lis.

Some are even shaped like a uterus
in miniature, amulets for warding off

miniatures of ourselves. Leaves
of a plastic ginko tree unfurl—

no end to our genius, its infinite contours.
On this scaffold we build

a barren language in plastic letters:
expandable O's, flying V's,

X's like antlers, and a range
of two-handled T's, eager to get to work.