poetry
“There is no beauty without some strangeness”
Work in progress.
Do you like the taste of yourself?
The Full Weight
A week or so after the funeral
I opened my Dad’s bureau to borrow
one of his shirts, as was my habit.
The Giants jersey held to my chest,
a brief inhale to catch any trace of his smell.
There was none.
The jersey took on a soft shape
as my eyes blurred.
I held the jersey to my face.
The scent of Tide greeted me
like a middle finger.
One blink.
The jersey got wet.
A paralyzing pause took hold,
pregnant with the realization that he would never
ask for it back.
I close the bureau
and walk out the bedroom,
jersey crumpled in hand.
Facelift
Taut, simple dry with little scars
I am beautiful.
Twitching slow twitch upward spasmodic turn
I am smiling.
Made in China dew moisturizer-enhanced
I am glowing.
Eyebrows static nowhere to go, can’t go
I am feeling
anything
And nothing
Outside too much pain within.
Keep it there, outside: I’m beautiful dammit.
I am perfectly falling apart.