Bottle Journal – A Brief History

by Miriam O'Neal

1.

Green as moss under the pines on Beaver Dam Brook,

clear as a spring that feeds a bog, we married for love.

All that day the clouds played havoc with the light,

blew a tune out of a brown jug— like the Gurnet on foggy nights.

2.

One shoulder tucked against my ribs the sudden pop

as of champagne uncorked; lips milk blistered,

slack in sleep, you dreamed your way to me. Here, take my glass

heart, before the shadows spread like owls’ wings.

3.

He loved me. He couldn’t forget he ever said that.

4.

Blue baby. Red too. He saved you; cord around your neck like kite string

Nurse, there’s something wrong here.

Pelvic bones shifted like tectonic plates

to sieve you into this world—

Here. I give you this.