Bare hands dig a grave in unsullied ground
You bury the memories,
and pray a flower blooms.
-
How do you mourn the living?
-
Ode to My Blister
You, Unsuspecting foot meets Lego Lemon juice in my papercut You, Cassette tape strung-out Wasp sting on my middle finger I prodded and I pricked until the life oozed out of you Irritation abounds my cornered body Longing to run away once more And for you, You, thump on my funny bone, You, uneven eyeliner wing For you to disappear as fast as you forged Oh, how I wish you’d leave my cleaved sole How I demand you never return How I pray the pressure alleviates and the friction relieves How I long for you, You, ads on the radio, You, car in both parking spots, You, high-school-friend-turned-MLM, How I long for you to vanish, and I to heal.
-
And my Dog Steals a Hamburger from the Table
Mother begs me to apologize
Impassive I tell her
that’s just what dogs do
the meal was out for the taking
and my dog wasn’t trained well
but I can’t help but think
I am not unlike when Mary
goes to the bar and
Mike tries to slip his hand up her skirt
and the bartender says
she should have worn pants.
-
Common Ground
she was black coffee
pure, bitter,
unafraid of darkness
he added some sugar and little creamer and
she became the sweetest part of his morning. now she
is the one to begin his day, to make sure he is
feeling like himself. he will consume her 'til he
is well, he will sip her scent until her aroma has
become home. he will want to gulp her until she
is gone. he will surely burn his tongue on her fervor.
-
He is made of forgiveness
But what to do when I can’t forgive You?
Prayer hands around my neck
Tears against burning cheeks
like smoldered ashes
A nail for each leg, uncrossed
A flood, a fire, a death among friends –
Where does the omnipotent go to hide?
-
The Giver
He says buying flowers is pointless.
They die, you know –
Never expect them from me.
He prefers something long lasting,
a token to remember him by.
Is that why you colored my body black and blue
with your fingers like crayons?
Did you pray for the bellow of your voice
forever echoed in my head’s hallowed hush?
Did you not kiss me with lips so gentle after
slicing my mouth wide open,
so I could only taste blood?
Did you not plan banquets for my suffering?
You, the head of the table.
You, the guest of honor.
A bare plate lies before me,
while you smirk,
satiated.
Flowers die, he says.
I am the gift that keeps on giving.
