“THERE’S NO THROUGH TRAIL” —HAN-SHAN, TRANSLATED BY GARY SNYDER
/ Two Poems

Two Poems

by Binx R. Perino

Draupadi’s Oath

                              I’m pulled 
              near nakedness 
                             by men, lip-licking 

              and thigh-rubbing, 
                             their hunger raw 
              summer odor of monsoon, 

                             unearthed grass root.
                                               I grind shame,
                             like cardamom, down

                                               in my mortar mouth,
                                                                 teeth clenched tight.
                                               In a silent prayer,

                                                                 my sari becomes endless:
                                                                                    a river pouring 
                                                                 emerald from the temple, 

                                                                                    sacred hips.
                                                                 Jackals sing omens, 
                                                warning days

                                                                 these men will see 
                                                                                     me again, their eyes
                                                                 closed, bodies open.

                                                                                     Their blood
                                                                 on my pestle fingers,
                                                                                      I will twist the length 

                                                                 of my hair 
                                                 into a braid, 
                                                                 paint it shining saffron.

Insatiable

I bring a man in
my apartment. He sees
the vibrator I left
by the sink, says it’s hot
that I grind clit
and hand. After I fuck
him, we never speak
again. I throw myself
on the floor of my car
to bathe in spilled
sour wine. I stitch
crumpled receipts
into a skirt too short.
I hunt in a bar,
lusting bodies. Broken
glass cuts my bare heels.
I bleed on every block,
tree, and church. I want
to fuck the God
I’m supposed to fear.
I eat the moon,
then stars. I scoop
and shove them
in my mouth, burn
my tongue on their cores.
It’s hot that I swallow
myself whole.

Binx R. Perino

About Binx R. Perino

Binx R. Perino, a poet from Texas, is pursuing their MFA at Emerson College in Boston. Their work can be found in Rathalla Review, Cypress, Euphony, GASHER, and elsewhere.

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