East Fork:
A Journal of the Arts
Two Poems
By: Danielle Watkins
Be Careful
She joined the world starring at the light.
Be careful they said. Or else you’ll go blind. So she closed her eyes.
She joined the world with arms outstretched to all.
Be careful they said. Some dogs bite.
So she held back her hands
She joined the world with a mouth full of song
Be careful they said. You’ll wake the dead.
So she shut her lips
She joined the world running with feet barely touching the ground
Be careful they said. Don’t trip. So she lay down instead.
She joined the world with a beating heart.
Be careful they said. Someone might break it. So she ripped it out quietly and set it aside.
And then she died.
Whirlpool
I struggle to explain it.
The way it feels.
The way my bones ache for no reason.
The way my mind spins with no direction.
The way my eyelids fall of their own volition.
The way my heart beats with no intention.
I’m a hail storm in Antarctica.
A kite caught in a tree.
And a taxidermy lion’s jaw.
I can feel power in my soul, and a stirring in my spirit.
I can feel pain in my limbs and— though you cannot hear it.
There is a part of me that’s crying.
Because what use is hail in a place filled with snow?
What use is a kite that only flies low?
Or teeth that an earthquake could only make go?
I feel like a whirlpool in a plastic bottle made by a kindergartener.
Look mommy! Look what I made? Watch what I can do. Swish, swish, swish.
Look at how the water spins. Swish, swish, swish.
Wouldn’t it be cool— Swish, swish, swish.
If it was a real whirlpool? I wish, wish, wish.