Tuesday, April 25, 2006

The notebook

He had a Roman nose and wrote songs about himself in the shower with me naked though I would never agree to be naked in front of his mirrored
eyelids something perverse.

She gave me a copy of her vows expectant like I was supposed to critique them or create a new word for joy or admonish the damned verse like it would matter what one
bird embroidered on a napkin - or one bride in June.

That was the summer I found red meat in the cabinet where the wine used to be and I knew
it was a hint because the meat made me sick and the bone cut my hand when I went to grab for it before the disposal swallowed baby.

My moth mother gave me a pair of bone shoes to walk in she wished I had been born with the pale chartreuse wings but instead two giant backwoods feet and it wasn't the truth of the summer she wore in fear of my vast body and her small lifespan.

Be quiet - we were taught to breathe - not taught - it is something we just do under the waiting our chests expand and collapse and question small motives for why some of us do and
others don't why some have names like poison and others cut free from the enormity.


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