Lauren L. Kimmel
WHAT THE MOON SAW YOU DO, I CAN BUT COMMENT UPON
I am glad that I didn’t have to see
what she saw. Last night. The way
you love yourself, child, you’ve no need
for enemies. Lord knows the boy hurt you.
Must you finish the job? Mamas don’t
let your babies grow up. All they do
is find clever ways to cut the cord,
and send blood spattering like a silent
movie firehose, out of control. Unstoppable.
Isn’t it hilarious? I could scream it, I
could clench my eyes shut and swallow
the rubbery pink ball of pain and anger and
sadness and more. I could scream red
spittle on the surface of your smooth round face
and I’d have better luck spitting at the moon.