FOUR POEMS by EM SETZER
The Poet, Looking at a Picture of Cillian Murphy
Admires or
stifles the urge to genuflect.
When a man's face
is built with flat planes
my desire feels invited,
like a monsoon finding
a bowl to fill in a valley.
Light comes in
to the cupola and a
small boxelder bug
alerts the hair on my leg.
It is an exciting red.
It has antennae stretching out
far from its exciting red
which makes it look like
a Texas Longhorn.
I am tickled and the belltower
calls me from the hill.
I ask the bug to take it away.
The picture, I mean, the want.
Siren Song
Man, I love you tied up.
Man, your hands were so strong, now not, now clipped birds.
Man, your hair is red.
Man, you burn easy.
Man, when I saw you from the shore I thought you were a young tree.
Man, I've never slept with a tree before but there are those who've tried.
Man, I'll try anything once.
Man, how did you knead the wax compliant?
Man, how did you make the warmth come?
Man, your sailors are pretty.
Man, they row so nice and in time.
Man, they'd crack themselves open and make you a pearl if you asked.
Man, I heard them discussing matters of the flesh.
Man, your body.
Man, you—prone.
Man, they liked tying you up.
Man, they want you down like a dog.
Man, I'm guessing there's no safe word?
Man, you beg like a girl.
Man, let's cut to the chase—I want you who is like a boar or a lion and I want your blood
Man, don't you want to know my name?
Man, don't you want to see my face?
Man, I'm like a sparrow in a cemetery.
Man, I'm like Jackie O.
Man, my body's like a wet blade.
Man, I can make it quick.
Man, don't you want to know how it all ends?
Mailman
(WITH A LINE FROM METAMORPHOSES)
Parsifal
I call him my tinned fish. Every morning we admire ourselves in the mirror. We toss our pretty heads (so like horses!) and exchange daisy chains and then it's time for breakfast. I feed him lingonberries and he feeds me cake. The hoopoe ululates, it's time to dress. First we remark on the splendor of our naked bodies. I say, you are like a long-tailed pheasant star, you are a cutlassfish. He says, yes, indeed, I am! A rose blooms from my red part. I pin it to his throat. Now comes the hour of rubbing. Hands and wool rub plates and mail. He prays as I rub and he asks for strength and lightness of feet and may he please slay one or twenty serpents of Satan on the battlefield in the name of Our Lord, thank you, amen. I pinch a snake on his nape. Armoring takes time and is like the building of an automaton. The scales of his coif reveal themselves coquettish. They rash his elbows, neck, and hip. At the end of it all he is my pearl in a metal oyster. We kiss three times (mouth, palm, palm) and he's out the door.
Em Setzer (they/them) is a poet and translator from Maryland. They are currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Cornell University. Their work has been published by Asymptote and Boats Against the Current, and their first ever micro-collection is forthcoming with rinky dink press. Twitter / Instagram