Hadara Bar-Nadav





was your first word



Born from dust and the whip

of wrists, you divided

and divided




along the line



Sun freckles burned

into your cheeks



With your unbroken

jaw and singular need



Devour the limb, the lamb,

the please


Kiss the hand

that sold you



Myth and monster,

machine of teeth



Rain-colored ghost

whose song is the whir



and was of aftering


Don't Forget Your Credit Cards



Ambulance. Call it. Don’t forget

your license, your credit cards, cut



your own wet gown of bandages, notify

your own damn family when you quit



your little heart, and the red light

slams blue, then blur, then geletal.



Close your own dreamhole,

smyth-sewn and tight. No



natter anymore, no choiring need

or milk-of-morphine cough. The end



continues though you are suited,

hulled, soon-to-be groom



wed to soil, beloved corpse

admiring the underside of grass.


HADARA BAR-NADAV is the author of Lullaby (with Exit Sign), awarded the Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize (Saturnalia Books, 2013); The Frame Called Ruin (New Issues, 2012), Runner Up for the Green Rose Prize; and A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight (Margie/Intuit House, 2007), awarded the Margie Book Prize.  Her chapbook, Show Me Yours (Laurel Review/Green Tower Press, 2010), was awarded the Midwest Poets Series Award.  She is also co-author of the textbook Writing Poems, 8th ed. (Pearson, 2011).  Hadara is currently an Associate Professor of English at the University of Missouri-Kansas City.