On Pulling Poems from a Torso


1.

the first time is like this:
vague burning in the abdomen
fist clenched. then unclenched
then altogether limp.
a notion of nausea
the blooming of

2.

they wore blue.
they were dead & wore blue &
smiled thinly for a quick quiet flash--
teeth black, gums white. chin high in navy slacks,
i contemplate eyelids blue creme shadow cheekd that
were not swollen. when i knew her. two weeks before
the asphyxiation. tissue wadded in hand
i want her to look at me & smile
lips thin as thread nostrils flared, smile.
they take a photograph.
i do not say cheese.
i say august 3rd, 1986.

3.

my stomach sizzles & so i cough up love :
red as autumn leaves, red as two new thighs.

clorox disinfects   e v e r y t h i n g,   she says.
i splash the liquid across my belly
replicate patterns of healing
smile wide when the skin begins to burn.

4.

it is june. the month of my rebirth.
i grow teeth in extraordinary places : the palms of my hands, thighs, inside one elbow.
we make love on your couch, couple in intricate tatters.
i touch your face. words brew inside my eyelids,
spill onto your skin in grainy streams of confession 
as your bent fingers search my mouth for substance.
you are holy & righteous & i want to consume your confusion.
chew through static electricity straight into abstraction.

a sycophantic rant springs from the roots of my teeth the bottom of my belly --

the splatters on my mouth want you to kiss
the dirtiest part of me.

5.

october.

the wheezing is worse.

i tell her after a while
she won't notice the scars. the thin white lines
the puckers. the

goddamn.

6.

i think about it all the time. how i wanted him
to see it. how i wanted him to see what he had
done to me. one month earlier. when my thighs
were red & slick with his cum. i wanted him to
see how it led up to this. how it led up to. our
bodies arranged meticulously on asphalt, limbs
splintered. how the bleeding would never stop
for either of us. how we would split open, torsos
widening, how we would lose the other.

7.

the old man began to vomit.
repetitive motion : skill aquired through love & loss & love, love again.
his stomach burns.

8.

1998. there are no consequences. only bodies. strung
to wooden posts jesus h. christ style--arms slumped &
wide & black & white & 30 years forgotten,  plunked
on the cobwebbed hardwood of his father's closet
face twisted into permanent ah men.  i touch the still
with my fingertip. afraid to place such casualtly flat
in the palm of my hand. love & loss & letting go. his body
a prophecy. a warning : quick, girl, turn your head.

9.

my legs are spindles. one thousand tiny
tributaries. i dress them up in lovely blue fiber.
shiny rhinestones

t     w     i      r     l

inside the heat, sweat splattered rhythmically
against the cabin wall.

10.

the first time is like this:
vague burning in the abdomen.
fist clenched. then unclenched. then altogether limp.
the notion of nausea. the blooming of memory. the resurgence of survival.
turning head. wiping wall. feeding hands. restitching womb.
pulling pulling pulling

poems from a torso

simply to remember what it is
to live.