Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole

I make marble men 
place them on the chess board 
like I know how to play 
the cold stone radiates 
to the tips of my fingers 
not warming from my body heat
how arcane

frost bitten 

they crack off, three of five on the right
I’m standing there in shock 
a warty toad hops by 
says, “lady you’ve lost your fingers”
I reply, “yes, friend, isn’t it.
why don’t you poke some more?” 
The same friendly frogger 
from last season

I huddle in a cornerstone
moan some, not for the fingers
those men form themselves 
with my hands
I think of flower petals in sunbeams 
when the clay is wet
Instead, those frozen hunky sam-wiches 
eye me, roving 
just enough
that I bear the lost phalanges 

a beautiful warrior, I am 
my silk black hair, glistening bug-a-ful eyes 
I’m on an island
with slime frogs, lukewarm pastries 
and a deer, a fucking deer 
not a gazelle, a jolly rancher reindeer 
in a fort made of hot breath 
nacho cheese
neon 
orange