LEARNING TO HOLD HER

She didn’t fit the girl shape I cut her into,

Snipped out of a picture book,

I scrubbed the ink from her pours until she was skin.

With surgeon hands I examined her oddness,

Trimmed the mushrooms from between her toes,

Skinned the dragon’s scales from her lips.

I tutored her with unfolding discipline,

Scissor snips.

But she wouldn’t sit still,

Wouldn’t stop singing,

Drawing all over her ruined skin.

 

I did try to love her

But she was so distant

A shade of blue reserved only for horizons.

She was only present when angry

And then her closeness was as ugly as an aliens.

Sometimes she took my strikes with only fierce eyes

Other times we fought-

A tangle of skin almost merging.

One night she tried to kiss me

And I felt her breath in my lungs

I nearly suffocated with the softness of it

So I did it-

 

I buried her alive under my floorboards

Where there was soil and clay and worms and

Death. The mushrooms could grow

Back into her cold toes. My shadow

Torn from the seams of me.

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6 thoughts on “LEARNING TO HOLD HER

  1. I liked the confessional tone. The ability of the narrator to embrace his/her own emotional shortcomings even while criticizing the subject he/she is describing. I refer to the narrator as he/she, but is the narrator and the character buried meant to be the same person?

    Liked by 1 person

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