Somewhere on the border, where the cold and the dry kills everything that needs to be killed, somewhere around here is where I’m from. Where the weeds are lush and the grass is gone. Where the cow’s milk tastes dirty and the breast milk tastes sad. Where bodies are cremated, not buried, and you can
CategoryPoetry Month
Imagined Sea Creature
I am fixated On a certain kind Of imagined sea creature That doesn’t exist yet, But has also Been clawing through the muck On the pond scum floor Of my stomach, Always. It loosens clots of dirt in my belly, And is made of white-hot metals That repel the water around it, Orbs of burning