Green Orion Woman Begins
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Green Orion Woman shudders. Orange man on the big screen.
Under the covers, the pulsar beckons purple, blue,
white heat Sun Ra sound floor nourishes Green Orion Woman.
She thinks dire wolves, dragon lords, wishes for a new song.
Flute squeals against the bass. Stutter. Starship prepares a landing.
No women to be sold. No men, neither crows, cats, dolphins.
Bat's sonar stumbles cello string. Green Orion Woman's rant
lands her in the brig, pink shirt irradiated in the stellar wind.
Green Orion Woman rocks against the blue curve. Lips flesh against
metal seam. Steam pounds other side of the wall. Drum kit,
mess kit, no food stamps to supplement carotene vitamin pill.
She lacquers her laughter into the porthole, blinks feather lashes out.
Tomorrow, she will begin a new story.
Tomorrow, she will lay down the bass.
Tomorrow, her red blood will stay a warm cloud
around her heart.
Green Orion Woman Bar Chat
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Green Orion Woman's wounds heal fast
iron copper microchip under the golden tip.
Molecules combine into survival story. Canadian
mammal protection act closes another damn circus.
Iceberg wind songs drift hollow deep reed throat.
She calls a girlfriend. They discuss FEMA officials,
Planned Parenthood funding campaigns. Her friend's niece,
flamingo-sequined for her prom. Green Orion Woman writes
an email. Whale sound, a holodeck symphony drowns out
military sonar tests. They arrange a coffee date.
At night, meet-ups hunger for the open sky. They enroll
flight simulators, prep the stage. Over the hill, beyond,
she leans onto the bar, purple hat rakish and cut, dreams
to pour a finger or three while she listens, nods, wisdom
coin of purser's string, tonight, the Green Orion Woman is in.
Green Orion Woman Morning Song
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Dawn helps wildlife. Soap me pretty, my dear, says
Green Orion Woman, waits for the No. 5 bus to Ypsi, co-op bag
folded behind her ear. The rosy tender jabs stigmata into her
boots, big round holes through which the orb releases ether.
The lyrics, the songs. All around her, fellow bus mates bop
into white lines, cable oceanic deep, blue cosmos
syncing into ear anvils. This is the forge, here they will rise,
tomorrow. Green Orion Woman prays, clean up the Detroit act.
Scrub the Bloomfield gutter and erase that silly smile. Drive over
township line. Salt crystals combine in slush beds, at night,
urban coyote sleek and thin moves ghost barricade,
alchemy familiar to Green Orion Woman and her need for fuel.
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Petra Kuppers is a disability culture activist, a community performance artist and a teacher at the University of Michigan and on the MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts at Goddard College. Her most recent poetry collection is PearlStitch (Spuyten Duyvil: 2016). Poems and stories have appeared in PANK, The Sycamore Review, Adrienne, Visionary Tongue, Future Fire, Wordgathering, Beauty is a Verb: New Poetics of Disability, textsound, Streetnotes, Festival Writer, Accessing the Future: A Disability-Themed Anthology of Speculative Fiction, QDA: Queer Disability Anthology, and elsewhere. She is the Artistic Director of The Olimpias, an international disability culture collective.
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