Chani Zwibel: Postmodern Cassandra

WAKING

First, the needling headache behind the eyes

Allows I am awake

Sun caught in the gauzy white curtains tells

Morning and reality have merged

First, to dress oneself against the elements

Today-the cold, tomorrow, the heat

God expelled us from the Garden

To a world where we’d need

To clothe our bodies against its harshness

While Paradise bloomed in splendor the rest

Had a hard evolution –the slow birth of rocks,

The slimy ancestor crawling up from muck

The worm out of the primordial sea

To a place where our ears are beset by singing cowboys

Our culture inundated with thong panties and racecars

Until one mass-curl-crowned-wave

Curves over our heads darkly

And falls

Ocean reclaiming camera-phones, contact-lenses, favorite pets. 

WEASELS

weasels are underground, waiting.

they want skin.

weasels are snorting cocaine, underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair.

weasels are fucking, underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair; they want blood.

weasels are performing satanic initiation rites underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle.

weasels are embezzling millions from top Fortune 500 companies, underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone.

weasels are keeping toddlers in cages, underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair; they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow.

weasels are snapping babies’ spines, underground, waiting.

they want skin; they want hair, they want blood; they want muscle; they want bone; they want marrow; they want gristle.

weasels are underground, waiting. 

Chani Zwibel spent her first 18 years in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now calls Marietta, Georgia, home.  She writes and gardens in a little red brick house. Married to Evan Butler, she and her husband are parents to a lovely blue pitbull named Loki.