Monthly Archives: September 2012

Francine Was Feeling Pissed off for a Change

Francine was drinking beer for a change. For a change she took on a lover. For a change Francine got knocked up. For a change Francine did not believe in anything. The beer was a change for Francine. So was the lover. Not often the lights twisted the way they did during her abortion. Francine felt herself leave her body. For a change Francine said Fuck You to anyone who said she did not feel herself leave her body. For a change, the lover really loved her. The beer tasted good to her, for a change. Though it was light. Her body was lighter than usual. Because of the change. Francine believed in everything once. They way things changed, she could believe in. Now she doesn’t. Francine remembers the doctor talked about Cabbage Patch dolls. Francine used to poke their eyes out. The dolls. Out. The way the light twisted. Francine felt it all go out. Like Fuck You. And change.

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Petition to St. Agnes

I am the dress in winter, white,

torn from the child’s window,

 

always. I am the rabbit inside the hole

inside the mother, scratching,

 

always. I am the apple burning,

the wax gathered under nails of a girl,

 

sixteen, rising above a boy, hoping

he will be the one to save

 

the earth from burning, always.

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Either Death or Adulthood, Which God is Speaking

In the dream I am floating down

river with my father. He hooks

one arm around me. He thinks

I am small. The sun breathes

with the water. We are swan-

devils, barely not drown-

ing together, our bodies given

into the other, he asks for

 

a kiss. In the dream I do not

want to let go. I let him, no

he lets me, lifts one arm

to the sun, devilishly,

snakes a prayer then lets

me go. I am not small or

holy, just floating, one

body before the break.

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