Pearl Button might be round like a button but isn’t a button. She does sew, bead, work with little brass bells and long sharp quills. She lives in Salish Territory, doesn’t mind that other people don’t realize they do too. She writes. Mostly surrealism, but also semi-narrative lyrics like these.
I wanted to call this poem the mourning blues instead I got a morning in green, a rough night with pain and now enervating distress, but strong coffee a toasted bagel down and things seem doable again but I’m still mindless, sitting what to say, this low place where springs have gone stagnant / where ponds have lost access to their eau de Nile / become instead slime and stench, of rotting / thick water and the verdancy of a humming death / stagnancy of birthing chemicals / feeding ground and origin story of mosquitoes air hums with toothed wings, sun stirs biting-life, a wooden spoon can be painful, wrists numb, hands arched against the downward pressure of letters, sensibility backed up against bones, muscles pushed aside by the pressure to let go to write, to disgorge ravaged thought, shredded intent, small wounds that never stop stinging • where goes the peace the calm of healed over nail-rips along thighs • those old white scars, yesterday’s novella left face-down, that recognition of implacable history dog-eared by the bedside • widening maw of a new bleeder, a ripped knee or the underside of a breast raw from heat and rubbing some acute loss of capacity for change fading blue of venous blood the bonds between chemicals break down forget to reform and still mindless, sitting
dragging leg, an old woman’s walk, sagging skin of a deflated life, loss and the winged mouths of biting times, oh to sleep but even that, quiet shut-down of lungs forgetting to heave, loss of desire, even to move but then a twitch / and another leg cramp / forgotten smooth run of a limpid musculature / that dark memory of movement remains / and a cramp it is forceful, pull against, almost forgotten resistance, world-heavy obligation of mitochondrial DNA, of ATP compel these sureties these pleas to continued interpretation promise to keep going, and up, stretch against the know the squealing pain & first sign of ease, not that she believes in some permanent ceasefire with oncoming death but just another shot at one moment of beauty, or simple happiness and ease