CW: assault
“10 Months”
My friend Denise said
she takes up too much
of my time.
She just moved
into a peeling pink house
on the East side-
two bedrooms
seven hundred flat-
a little too close
to where my ex and I
wanted to live,
where the doors locked
in the morning
when he woke up,
and key holes
were a low voice
spoken through the
deepest black mustache, but
rape is a personal experience.
I light a red candle whenever
he's mentioned,
plant a tree every year
in the woods where
I burned his name
and threw it away.
I smoked a bowl
and across the room
in the mirror
saw Denise and I,
like water, when
the ground is too cold
and the air is too hot.
We both slid our armor off
like wrapping paper,
and let men
close in on us
like a claw.
“Being Happy”
The view is better this time. I've drawn sixty three pictures in two days, and the biggest muscle in me beats against the sky outside this four inch thick glass. The river pressed its face to the window and I could hear spirits hemming water. Behind the curtain, the respirator hums underneath, suctioning. The glow from I Love Lucy mixes with blue sun through shades, reflects off the puddle of urine on the tile. Embarrassed to no longer control my body; Who’s fault is it?
She held one fingertip against the hole in his neck. If that's what you could call exposed red tissue dripping with saliva. He laid five feet from me. Your TV isn’t too loud, are you from Kalamazoo? We are. He carries his heart in a black bag velcroed to a backwards gown. I know it’s hard to see but trust me he doesn't mind if you need to look away. I swear honey-you weigh twice as much dead than you did alive. The lights above the steel table rippled in a mist, and the woman laughed before she emptied liquid from my chest.
Surgery Type: Aortic Valve Replacement, and Mitral Valve Patch with Porcine Bioprosthesis
“Salt-Water Wolf”
Women utter inarticulate sounds at me,
their skin is red, dark, and wet.
They cup their hands and motion for me to come, ripples break.
Create love and sweat with us, and
watch it mix with the water they murmur.
But I can't.
All I see is you and your starfish hands on the opposite shore.
Wake me up in the night time,
I see your campfire. You could swim across if you wanted,
what's keeping you?
It can't be the salt.
The women sleep, face up in the water, one eye open.
“Black Braids Dropped”
No one will remember me
she thought,
hangs upside down,
rain water collects in her open mouth.
She researches family members who exhibited sociopathic tendencies.
Lights a lantern outside
the bedroom door
at night
to be certain no spirit steals
her intentions.
Dad kissed her on the head and asked "Why does your upper lip always itch?"
She still asks herself this question.
Said it's because she couldn't keep quiet, always opened doors with stolen keys.
Theft is a common theme in her life,
whether a pair of gold hoop earrings, heavy,
lion-head shaped clasps,
or any man with a dagger hung
between his legs.
She wrote a novel every time he breathed onto her neck in the nighttime.
Before he crushed sage and fern together with his hands - dad told her
this man
controlled her with silence, devoured
with rage, and would kill
with his body, someday.
She was supposed to stay invisible to men,
but broke that magic long ago- it wells up in the belly,
radiates warmth through the heart and brain,
you see it in her face.
CW: assault
"Honor this feeling, keep her feet on the ground_"
it is hard to do
when her breath is shallow,
fights moon and mind
at the same time,
stares out the bedroom window at a man for three years,
his kindness hard to reconcile against_
the orange light of this city, the black lines,
chipped paint on a sharp suit, hand in his pocket,
hand hard on the back of her head, north side,
only a half-block away, she lay behind a gutted house,
the grass and dirt wet_
because he jacked her off and kissed the body,
she never had a choice,
in dreams her feet were mud.
And it was seven months ago,
cold wringed his hands of water,
when dad died he was there
when muscles clenched and overflowed_
one and a half liters pumped out of her chest,
in this night he stole time, hospital lights so bright,
her future is a bitter reflection of what she was
and healing is always a never.
Two people sat across the table,
one by the door holding a letter from a survivor,
they said, put it on paper.
“Bedside Table”
Can still see the moon today,
Through the jar, the liquid dark green, yellow, and black.
Two tones play together
Somewhere upstairs.
Just behind the glass
His hands were so fast, then.
“Mom’s Wrists”
The way light catches on things
A square on the wood floor, waved my hand
Back and forth through it, the dust
Seamless over my skin.
Lifted my eyes,
“You’re not going back are you” who said that
Her shoulders flexed forward, head against
The steering wheel.
Only KMart left I think,
Only remembered it that way,
White female slits wrists in parking lot
No wonder it didn’t work-
The plastic tube from a broken marker.
An ambulance will respond
To a call from two hundred miles away.
She sat in the snow out front.
When dad lived,
Everything was a meditation on submissiveness.
“Only Getting started.”
Don’t kiss anymore, because I licked a brick of salt once,
Those poor hands, look at the color of words,
The lines are tucked in the folds and caves
In the comforter.
Held a sheet of paper in front of her lips, and spit.
Freckled brown stomach only half-way down,
Didn’t expect so much body contact.
I don’t give head anymore, because once the crayon
On the shower wall, three year old, wife gone,
Did you shower yes,
No.
If teeth could sing.
Why don’t you talk to me anymore,
One hundred thousands shades
Of bloom in a parking lot
Buildings all around us on fire.
Can’t walk two blocks that way.
Lie to me about selling off your uncle’s business,
Fly me home.
I need to drink some water, this coat
Is so shiny, these lights
Jesus.
She stood over the toilet, empty plastic bag
I know you’ll hate me for a little, but.
She sat on the train, head on a friend's shoulder
Little did I know.
"Childish"
Don’t be pissed, told him
You went out,
Still waiting on the
Bench, they painted it dark green
In blackness, floating on air.
But the synth slowly groans on top
Of the night, from the garage at the corner.
Hear the couple scream, something
about cheating.
The bass is so low.
Take the truck there tomorrow
She can’t go on that side anymore
St Louis said he was packing
But it comforted her.
Weeds in his living room touched the ceiling
The pit pushed its snout
Into her belly.
His woman didn’t know her-
only knew a name.
He smelled it, the lights are dim
The smoke’s heavy in front
Of the third person on the TV.
It kicked.