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Fig:
What my mouth means when
it opens is that I want to eat you
alive; to say “touch me”
without all the hesitance."
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When the apocalypse came
I hitched my bones to catastrophe,
I became a monster of hunger.
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What can
be filled with bird song alone?
The body craves. Contact. Salt
living like an eel on my tongue.
When my mother beat me
instead of an apology, she would bring
me lavender: soaps, creams, perfumes.
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I keep thinking about Olivia Benson.
I keep thinking about the jury of my peers.
(2023 Best of the Net Nominee)
A chirp sounds in the courtroom. What I think
a bird is just the laugh in his throat.
The coat, bulletproof and stiff. I fix my eyes on
it, the only thing — the DA tells me— I have to say
is the color of his coat. I don’t have to look at
him at all. Like a stone capping a stone, the blue of
his coat rests on my lungs. It is all I can say. Blue
like deep water that holds a cobalt sky above it.
Read here
https://www.southfloridapoetryjournal.com/poetry-32-feb-24.html
“I have yet to meet a snake in South Carolina.”
I bathe my tongue in syrup.
The rest of my body in sugaring
