things
By Kore Fox
Based on the Prompt “Verge”
There are things
I want to tell you
That I can’t separate
Between head and tongue
And there are fireflies in my gums
And the storms are rolling in
On charcoal billows,
A thick stew in the air,
And I’m sitting in my sagging shorts
Wishing for an extra layer of skin.
Please never name
A highway after me
When I die.
What happened to your ears?
They were once so sweetly molded,
Strung so carefully to your lips
And mine to my wrists
And now it’s all down to our fingertips.
The old bath water pools at our ankles
And I just don’t want to be buried or burned.
Please don’t tie ribbons to my toes
Or seal me into a gift box.
I think it all began
When I told myself to die
And the waters still were hot,
Boiling,
Gleaming with green sweat,
And they spiraled,
A hurricane,
And grabbed me bare by the chest
And stuck their
Murky thrashing hands
Down my throat
And it was too hot
And I realized I did not
Want to die
But still I die
And please do not make wishes
To my womb.
For once, please pray upon
My empty, aching body
For whom I’m now lost.