Member since August 10, 2015 | 0 Readings |
Kimberly R. Fulton
Subscribed by Kimberly R. Fulton
My mouth has a mother
I harbor her cold / tongue. I hang it / heavy on the drying / rack. /
The summers were all watermelon. Mom would cut that big green candy skin wide open, the knife plunging into the deep pink fruit belly. I was five…
I want her heart to beat / its peril with a small switch / / / the cannon, let loose / on fatality’s bare ass. / / / I want to offer…
/ In the young room, we sit between / the sinks. Sister’s small legs dangle – / she is all nightgown and toes. Her shins are plump with…
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