Sara dances to a Zumba video on her laptop
at the kitchen table I eat chocolate chip cookies
the dog gets too close the moment she kicks air
he walks to a window to study his reflection I inhale
as Sara does the dog stares back exhales my reflection
consuming me but soon my body how my feet are bare
on coffin wood and Sara throws punches while dough
collapses in my fingers before I move grease to mouth
yes yes YES alongside the workout instructor to techno
beats a pitch of butter sugar flour down my gullet
I have accomplished an entire row from the baking pan
Sara says that’s enough but she means her water break
many minutes into sweat an eternity away from ending
she says her stomach hurts and I get it, mine too
(originally published in Indiana Voice Journal, Winter 2018)
Water molecules cause the inflation–
how the heart expands several times
in the span of too-few seconds.
The depths of my sweetness,
you call suffocating– the airbag
after collision. A time bomb–
we promised to open the door
before making a mess,
but we kept growing inside
ourselves. Body inside body,
slow spinning made us dizzy.
We were fine before. Small,
we never knew the depths
of our grandness.
Even then, we were sugar.
We opened our mouths
and licked hot the walls.
In the process of swelling,
we long to burst, to stick
to a heart that holds
(originally published in Umbrella Factory, Fall 2018)
You love me like the artificial
bone loves the dog, leather
smack and toothmark.
I bark at the aqua wall, whimper
when thrown to the Venetian. I fleck
paint, dig nails into sheetrock.
My saliva carpets this floor, all tongue
and hunger, lapping water like
it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
(originally published in Page & Spine, Spring 2017)