Two Poems by Rowan Tate
an entryway or an exit
how do you explain blood to a man, the blood it takes to make a person, that you spend a life stomaching as it leaks out of you in dark hot stains until one day it begins to clot and make a face, a face you will feed, a mouth that will bite you and say your name back to you, an organ outside of you walking away from you, an object that bleeds your blood, another mind, a red song, how do you explain all the bodies yours can make, all the eyes that could be fished out of you from this wet place inside of you filled with flesh where life dies and a whole generation slips out slick between your legs—the beginning and the end of wars, a stranger you have been nursing and carrying all of your life, how do you explain blood to a man.
art in heaven
i am perched on god’s shoulder, we both know this isn’t going to end well; i think he should add more glitter. in the beginning, eve didn’t know she needed mascara. god clogs the toilet throwing up after bingeing on all the sacrifices and accidentally floods the earth. talking animals go out of style, sad. customer satisfaction scores are low with the kings. in the new testament, god goes on a diet, becomes vegetarian. a new grass-roots business model. a dramatic ad campaign. i think the bible has a boring cover and is over the word count, but no one listens to the intern. wait till they have iphones, god says. it will automate everything, it’s basically retirement.
Rowan Tate is a creative and curator of beauty. She reads nonfiction nature books, the backs of shampoo bottles, and sometimes minds.