masthead
home news store events about tweak job

Monday, April 16, 2018


Tell me you’ve run past that stretch of highway for the past two weeks and not thought of me.
            ~ Don Draper

animal insistence turned my velvet body to leathery grit arms & legs clammy skin a breath off corporeal temperature shivering dog calm trudge pant & blunt I ate mercury as a child broken thermometers bright pools on the bedroom floor gums not yet black not yet turned a grand tolling in third grade a nun brought her most treasure oh treasured to school two foot long thermometer awarded her for a lifetime of forcing thermometers into childrens’ rectums she removed it from a velvet lined case passed it with Jesus care one child to the next & I dropped it shattered mercury globs silver animals wriggling toward a fairy-tale center I scooped them into my mouth I am about to die or win a great award a shivering dog inside me my brother is a marathon runner I am afraid of losing him I’d write you a letter if I thought it was okay you don’t ever have to write back my life swings onto the gridded macadam as a woman in the driver's seat turns smiles & waves she holds a cigarette a bottle of gin & a gun

1 comment:

Ms. Moon said...

Another devastating poem, Rebecca. The image of the nun and the thermometer and the children and you...well.
I wish I could remove the great shivering dog for you. One way. Or another.