.
week 3
first wool
now glass
the pancreas exploded
and every dirty toxin, all filth
seeping through
and Jesus and Jesus
Saint Genevieve
mama, no.
first glass
now wool
and hair falling out in clumps in the cup
of your small hand.
i watch him shave your head in the kitchen.
i watch him sweep up your hair.
wool and glass
through both our eyes, mama
Saint Genevieve, the clear
poison steaming
toward the stable vein.
the arm exploded. the tumor has not changed.
5 comments:
Why delete this, any of it? It's haunting and powerful and deeply disturbing. It deserves to stay. Both the poetry and the image. Please leave hem be, let them live a little longer on the page. We need to sit with these thins.
Instead, I suggest you delete the promise to delete remark.
With a little edit, no one needs know the threat to delete was ever there.
hahaha! thanks elisabeth! i WANT to keep it up but apparently online poetry mags consider a poem to be "published" if it's been posted on your blog and therefore won't consider it for publication with them. weird. not all but a lot. so.... that's why it'll disappear. i just wanted to see if anyone would tell me it needs some fixing first. :)
only the crappy journals think blog published poems are pre-published. Poo on them. Leave it up until you find a home for it then you can take it down. You stated quite clearly you're still working on it so fuck em if they can't take a joke. My 2cents.
xo
:D
thank you, sweet woman! hahahahaha! what a relief! i was hoping that's the answer i'd get!
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