AT ALL COST
montel/ricky/raphael
at 16 or 17
it all came out.
my mother's eyes
bled. like a
nerve gas victim.
it's a condition. talk show television
had convinced me
people talk.
and it was the only way
to keep from
cutting my breasts
(tho i never thought of it) or
perhaps one day
slaughtering my parents
(tho i never would).
more importantly
montel said
that at the
moment of disclosure
my guilt would fade. maybe
my face
would even clear up. so
I started at four
tho i was possibly
a pro at that point. regardless
i bled on the orange
tricycle seat
and it was never a kidney
infection. so i've taken a lot
of unnecessary medication.
and my face is as close
to my goulash and egg noodles
as it can be without
touching it. when i explained
why i had
to bury my
barbies in a row between
our apartment and the
morning glories. how their
stiff legs and angled
feet were more
painful than the turkey
baster. and how my grandmother
chuckled
when he'd chase
me around the trailer
with it. and my heart
is a gagging locomotive.
they can hear it.
i know.
he could hear it. smell it
on his sheets. vomit
that made him giggle and think
himself huge. i cry
when i vomit. not because
it hurts
but because when my finger
touches back the assonance
is blinding. i actually
said that. the assonance
is blinding. and
the goulash splatters
all over my dress
and the hard part
of my father's hand
like a screen
door in a hurricane
swings back
for my face. it shut.
this conversation
is closed. and his eyes are taped
and secure. and it's raining
subtitles
as i walk to the liquor (store)
and purchase
the first of many
bottles.
TRYING TO FIX
don't ogle my ass
like it's a cheeseburger
somalia boy
it makes me nervous.
you in your pale eyes
tattless biceps
and smothering grin
snickering
i'm sure
to every passerby
how well you know me.
in the scriptural
sense. fuck you
for being abreast
of middle eastern
politics. it's
making it hard
to never see you
again. i hate
the way you
instinctively
mouth "please"
in arabic. then apologize
and say it again
in french. I mean really.
who says please
anymore when
the intimate
geography clearly states
this is happening
whether you're
polite about it
or not. so unnecessary
to be this charming
this focused
this certain
this could be serious. when
reality is
i'm incapable
of allowing you
to penetrate
any more than you
already have.
Take sumthing beautiful & cut out its insides. Take sumthing hideous dress it up in heals. But never refer to yourself in the 3rd person. Cat thinks it's tacky.
