Dara Cerv


how to thrive during eclipse season


Raise the drawbridge, Cancer
Don't entertain the dead dreams limping across the damp field
A snake in sister's clothing might slither into your realm
As her body strokes over your neck
Don’t invite the tender tone of voice
Her pulmonary cellulitis could flower and cover you like a meadow
The coral-hued and heart-shaped breath of witches will protect you
Let them sprinkle lavender on your brow
Let them follow you to your pillow
The trouble is that you didn't actually learn last time, did you
Forgot the latch and your quickening fluids
You were dealing with this somber full moon
You’ll want someone to tell you that you’re beautiful
But you’ll regret hearing it
Language is burdensome
Hindsight is 20/20
It will be a comfort to know in the coming months
Your cervix points toward the floor
The moon slips out no matter the musculature
Things are sure to get better in the afternoon

This is for Protection and Lack of Surrender © 2016



how to thrive during eclipse season


Let the right one into the vestibule
Make of your head a well
Drop coins in whenever
You sense it’s time to make a wish
I guarantee a bronze mane sprouts
And the hair keeps getting in your mouth
Is it Leo season, or what?
Relationships help us to see
Ourselves a little more clearly, dear Cancer
You come to me in a dream and we fuck
Everything hurts when I wake up
You come to me in a dream drunker than fuck
This can be turned into a positive
If you make changes as a result
Every time you drop into my head
I well up
Dear Cancer, you might be down with some
Viral infection in the coming days
Dear loss, dear lion of mourning
A beige sheet over the sofa starts to look like the desert
In this way you stretch silence across the landscape
You press me to forget you
I adopt an incense holder and a golden desk lamp
It’s okay, I am living
Like a fat goddess
In the room you would not enter

Regret is an Unnecessary Brushstroke © 2016






Dara Cerv lives and works in New York. Her visual art has accompanied the poetry of Christine Shan Shan Hou in Parallax, Emily Skillings in Hyperallergic, Ali Power in Poor Claudia, and recently appeared on a broadside in celebration of a performance of John Ashbury's "Litany" at the Poetry Project. She is the author of a chapbook, Bath Poems (Sixth Finch, 2015). Work lives here and here.

Photo credit: Erin Albrecht