six weeks // heartbeat
RIP
Poetry
Poetry
Kimberly Ramos
kathleen moore
Kirksville, Missouri, USA
Danville, California, USA
my body is mine / when it is not being borrowed / cast on, cast off / hung like drapes / over taller bodies / then pinned moth-like / to mattresses and sheets / come, my limbs / are dripping and sweet / all liquid / like water / honey / blood / what runs / and runs / then floods / i could create a world / i could destroy it / these burdens / are mine / and still i’m small as a fly / hard to catch / easy to kill / a feeble whine / beside your ear / call me the god of soft / some pocket talisman / for you to handle / little lady luck / strip off my red dress / and black spots / oh god / aren’t i pretty / all splayed out / split open / head to tail / a delight dissected / a damn pretty thing / machine / cell / machine / a factory of touch / now gone all rotten / i can’t stand / to house anything / i killed the bats in the rafters / sent the roaches homeless / condemned the crickets / made a morgue of mice / they hand me the gasoline / tell me to set this bitch aflame / a fire to kiss my toes / one last riot of heat / before i go / my death all bright and holy / hot tongues on my knees / i am a feast / a feast / a feast
Early summer morning I pause in my walk to pray over this dead owl face down in the dirt soft feathers spread like a summer blanket Day after day bird of wisdom and omen remains silent & untouched no scavenger tears at the flesh no curious cat bats it away Road crew stops, mows around it I pick up a flat rock carry it home take out my paints soft grays and greens a bit of mustardy yellow for beak and eyes winged life memorialized on this miniature tombstone for weeks they remain there together flesh and feather, bone and stone
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