Untitled poem #592
He said with flushed cheeks
And cold eyes,
“Look at her,
Look at her anger..”
The hair grew course and straight
On the back of my neck.
And my nail beds wore sore
From hiding.
Those claws that lie dormant
Favor boiling veins.
She did not know-
It would be one of her own
But her fangs always knew
What her heart could not feign.
An old lion might hope
That I don’t remember;
Highway stops
And broken shoulders.
The crashing of windshields
And pipe dreams.
Diplomats in arm slings.
The echo of footsteps
But most of all
The smell of burnt tires,
The smoke from the chase-
The unfinished race to a better you.
The acid in my stomach shot those lies
And oiled my tongue.
I was ready
To sharpen
The biology that you gave me.
I scratched the surface
With the claws that found me.
If I knew better
If I have learned anything from you
I know to dig deeper-
To sink down
To the marrow,
Make a feast of your bones.
Because when you get brittle
I’ll fill you with bacteria
Infect you with hope.
And hug you in pretty.