Three Poems by Barbara Nickel

Plantar wart

John 13:5

on my sole—
well, shoal, Sheol…?

Where can I go…?

Over hot stones, hot sand, to the rim, to—

(but there is here, behind, before, all—)

These calluses…

Fungal-Toes-In-The-Mud
blows
it, after the funeral

hauls

off to…

______  are you?

Where Star kneels

(calling

between my toes)

and gentle water (over

my bridge goes—)

and I’m alone

No—

Sweet Hour 

Luke 8:44

Teacher
(Index Finger)

find—

                        —Will ya smell it on her?        

—Like rust—

                   —Sic leeches—

                             —Touch-Her-Not!

My jewelweed-heal, sweet
hour
my leech—

 —Hexed?

 In the rustling grass…

            —Sick for ages.

—Touched?

Hear the in-jingle, reach
in
rushingseekinglurchingouching—

Cure it.

Cured.

Twit

John 9:6

Gutter, rubble,
litter

am I…?

Not fit.

So be it!

What’s what

inscribed,
taught

see-sees
what’s right.

(Shit and dirt, godspit, gobs
of it on Old-Eyes
in the twilight…)

What
lifting, lit?

What—

Slob!

 infinite I-

Out!

ris-
es…