Anemones Slice into Heirloom

“...we're the vanishing tribe...” -Jean Whitehorse

Anemones slice into heirloom
halves—velveteen inside, outside

as polished as sea glass. They mimic
a spritz of bright waves that extinguish

into sand. Rhythm in the arrhythmia.
I slip a stone, worried-over, into your

pocket. Some moments need to be released, too.
The ones that pulse with I don't know

what to feel. Flimsy as bags volleyed
between cars on the interstate.

Snowglobed like jellyfish afloat
among eventide. But, not enough

to keep what we don't want
in, out / out, in.

A Maasai cow, cradled by a trash pile, thins
into washboard and a head that only nods.

How do you Heimlich a bovine? Tarnished
bells still tinkle, after all, even if not as

sweetly. Caught as keenly on corduroy as
a firefly in a web—strobing through muslin

as if such SOSes snag more than echoed sky.
More than transparent frogs spreading toes

unnoticed with so much revealed from within.
A uterus deemed too native for anyone to keep.

Some moments need to be released. And
others, sprinkled with sanctified water

to cleanse what others want
unremembered, remembered.

Sarah E N Kohrs is an artist and writer, with poetry most recently in Cumberland River, Lucky Jefferson, The West Trade Review; photography, in Glassworks, Gulf Stream Lit, iō. Sarah has a teaching license, endorsed in Latin and Visual Arts, and homeschools, as well as works in her pottery studio, creating clay art to savor and for local outreach events. SENK lives in Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, kindling hope amidst asperity. http://senkohrs.com.