Renee Podunovich

Pulse

 

One finger on the wrist. measures the beat of the heart. the vast

darkness from which it springs.

             unapparent and under

             the pulse. in the vein

             under the pallid skin.

throbs once. again. alive with liquid red propulsion

(like a plump, crimson elderberry)

waiting, anticipating, desiring

the delightful and dreaded bite of black bear.

Each berry vibrates with that suspense

as each beat of the bear’s heart swells

with the juice of summer fruit.

devoured and devouring. wanting

and needing. giving and taking.

             this is not about the certainty

             that everything is connected.

             sustained in beauty.

this is about ending. one thing becoming another.

two sides the same—

             hooked. no loss small. each a cumulative weight.

             grief a kind of sustenance for our own living.

 

[....]

Renee Podunovich

The falling of the over-ripe berries

feeds dirt.

 

Yet at the height of ripeness, luminosity resides in skin.

unassuming moonlight rests on the naked body

like a white silk kimono lifted in the cool summer breeze.

              the skin like an urn.

             unaware of the coming autumn.

             the decomposition of flesh.

             the drying of inner pulp and juice.

There is no way to avoid the terror

of sharp claws and seeking snout.

of grinding teeth and sucking lips.

there is no way to comprehend

             the ecstasy

             and freedom

             of coursing

through the beating heart of wild creatures—

the fullness of the self

a loosed feather

in eternity.

Renee Podunovich

Designed to Catch the Enormous

 

always. motion—

each moment a big bang.

              filtered by brain,

             its chemicals and fluids.

its electromagnetic charge.

a butterfly net held in the air.

             some of this flying debris

             is caught by awareness.

             free form

to structure.

image to language

to lips. kiss.

looking for that space,

that re-absorption.

 

suddenly. ocean.

all syncopates

             with wave and crash.

              the beach pummeled

over and over.

 

[....]

Renee Podunovich

designed to catch the enormous

             spill out

of so much water

in motion.

I’m designed. to be fluid.

not a bog.

not a hurricane.

             a gentle stream

percolating over the rocks of the Redwood forest.

held in mossy mouths.

tasted. sated.

simple.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © Renee Podunovich. White Whale Review, issue 2.2