So, I’m getting back into the swing. I did a prompt where I picked five words fromt he poems of Gillian Weise and worked them into a poem. I’m not that sure about it, but its just a prompt and a first draft…
Where will you make the incision,
you ask me without words, pulling away
after we hug, after you walk thru my door
one last time. Your fear is morbid, rooted
in a past that is no longer mine, no longer
ours. A past of grids and ladders netting my
body for every slipped word, every mistaken
moment. Now, I am primed for the end, now
I know I cannot open my flesh and let you in.
As a little girl, I once got a sandspur stuck
in the flesh on the bottom of my big toe
while vacationing with my grandparents.
Grandma pleaded and reasoned with me
to let her pull it out, the pain will be
fast, you will feel better then Grandpa
got sick of hearing it, grabbed my foot,
and yanked. The absence brought embarassment.
Now, I’m drawn to your lack of tact. The way
you do not care what I think, what you say.
Long ago, poeple replaced that sandspur
in my foot. I make covetous glances
at your body as you say these things
to me, and I know I will stay.