Cycles I was wearing brushed soft cotton banana colored pajamas, running after dinner on the hard wood floor, trying to even the score by sliding in socks until, I smacked my forehead into the coffee table. Five stiches later, my father kicked the shit out of the hard oak as if it were alive. He fire stormed up and down the stairs and never swore on Sundays. But after church, he turned his hard hands on my brother and I taking turns to see who would cry first. And now there’s my fiancé dragging me up drunk from the bed, telling me to look to look hard at his shiny car look, at that white pearl girl. And then he twists both of my arms, squints and smiles but all I see are my father’s teeth. On the BorderA glance in the right direction. A map with the route gone south. A granite fish with an open mouth. Fractured light lifts the body out. Hard eyes of onyx, gleamed. Seven sisters ride high in the sky. A chance collision course, fell off course. A knotted-up stomach full of rhymes. Pellets sparked behind stove glass. The heart skipped a beat too soon. The sun shined its brilliance threading a sea of cotton clouds. There’s power in each lonely hour. A long distance, lost existence of space and love’s bad time. Obedience |
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