Saturday, June 6, 2009

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.
And hilarious.

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.

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