E R LUTKEN

PROMENADE À DEUX

Vaejovis carolinianus

(southern devil scorpion)

reckless grasping in the dark glowing pincers reach for fugitive symphony mithraic clasp of claws the dread/desire two-step cheliceral kisses tinges of venom like swallows of wine ease the tension keep cannibalism at bay waltzing spinning juddering crescendo fluorescent bodies winding through the sting of cold flailing flames in pitch void defense posture springing alive at one wrong flick of dust skittering this way that way tentative push toward the precious spermatophore/ovariuteral introduction – the power my will no mine burning binary energy attraction/repulsion dance on the rim of annihilation savor in the sip of bitters propels chance of newly hatched ovoviviparous creatures in frantic crawl to the backs of tormented parents who kill them if they fail to make the climb furious rampage cidal mania post-copulatory murder infanticide/matriphagy lifts awakened pairs of lidless eyes staring at claws of incandescent stars reckless grasping

WORDLESS

Scutigera coleoptrata

(house centipede)

Tarsal claws

cannot trace the notion

that behind each living curtain

lies shared, awakened marrow.

Chilopods map course

with organs of tomosvary,

jellyfish seine

bytes of brine and tide,

vipers’ pits mark

hot preys’ glow,

terns read

magnetic sky.

In depths of dreams,

which among us

see fragrance,

drink songs,

hear rainbows?

SPIRIT BUGS

Phasmatodea spp.

(walkingsticks)

Somnambulistic legs haul us along

up cattail stalks and silver crossvine cords,

on cumbrous journeys by pale light of stars,

searching for leaves of grapevine, oak and gum,

manna to savor in night’s solitude.

At dawn, in whispering wind, we calmly sway

with locust leaflets, then at breathless noon,

our jointed bodies weave into vervain

in cataleptic stance we hold for hours,

like some nativity tableau vivant.

Wary of hungry lizards, rats and birds,

we thwart attacks with caustic vomitus

or ooze of hemolymph from our shells’ seams,

distasteful but harmless impediments.

Yet from the murderous giants we recoil

defenseless, as they capture and detain,

call us by names of scorn: specter, ghost bug,

the Devil’s darning needle, witch’s horse.

But we are gentle martyrs, virgin born,

stigmata bleeding when disturbed or caught,

suffering in silence when we’re pulled apart,

regenerating in the sacred dark.

E R Lutken’s collection Manifold: poetry of mathematics (3: A Taos Press, 2021) won the New Mexico First Book Award 2022. By training, Lutken is a family physician. She graduated from Duke University, and U.T. Southwestern Medical School. After residency, she worked in urban emergency rooms, then with International Medical Corps teaching and caring for refugees, and for the majority of her career on the Navajo Nation. After retiring from medicine, she taught middle and high school science and mathematics in rural Colorado for six more years, and developed an interest in cross-curricular activities with the humanities. Now she spends time writing poetry, and fishing in the swamps of Louisiana and mountain streams of New Mexico. Her poems often involve science and mathematics, and have appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies. In addition to her poetry, she recently edited her father's memoir "A Thousand Places Left Behind: One Soldier's account of Jungle Warfare in WWII Burma" (University Press of Mississippi, 2023) https://www.erlutkenpoetry.com/