I
Cousin Crystal, her daughter Treasure
watch my glare, amazed as I hasten
their fate. Pop walks outside, my face
a snarl. He asks but I growl at their cold
scraps, Get on with it then, will ya.
Crystal & Treasure want to know my vision.
Mom steps outside to say, I rather liked them.
Me too Mom, me too.
II
On my parent's deck, discerning
what I don't want to know, dazed
at the sight of them, their drips
of unbecoming, slow decay
of all that was firm, weakened
by the passing minutes. The warmth
everyone is celebrating, I hate.
How soon they won't keep hold,
their rot will send them by force
of gravity to scattered pieces
becoming fluid, fragmented bit
by bit, disappearing into the earth
someplace this house can't follow.
Between red wafts of blood earth and adult
forbearances: a terrain she hid among, sans
subsistence, refusing even to sleep with dreams.
She defies the white men's assault with women:
dark complected police, hesitant to set the broken
bones in her arms with their hair. A coup against
constructing another bridge over the river, bass
boosts beneath her, Amtrak trains bypassing
the child's hometown station and ordinances
prohibiting such nocturnal inhibitions. A naked
curfew dances from ear to ear, a preamble
of fear to disgusts apportioned each eye.
A full coffin of it waiting to climax. From the bald bud
and falling petals of a Jennifer Lopez flick;
credits for an empty room.
Lizzy Swane garners crits and kudos as needs be. Send yours to lizzyswane AT gmail DOT com.