print versionREBEKAH REMINGTON
Little Invocation
Don’t open the blinds; give me fifteen minutes.
This morning my mind like a century
which sees the rise and fall of 22 emperors
and all I’ve done is empty the dishwasher.
Grant me a sweet cup of forgetfulness, god.
Let’s blot out the never-made call to the lonely friend.
The baby sunflower, gift from my son, I didn’t water
four days in a row.
Once I wrote a twenty-page paper delineating
all the muscles bones tracts synapses involved in speaking
the word spring.
Envision a system of wild estuaries, derivations,
deer skeleton, river thaw,
the road to the contagious hospital.
Now say it aloud. 
Little Invocation
My Head a Pine Cabinet with Female Cardinal Ascending