December 2016 - Comments Off

Chloe Engel

show & tell

Fearless milk maker, in the sheer
blouse, you show me the way to woman

around town. You charge my tongue
a penny per like,
a dime per gotta,
a dollar per sorry. I forgot my lunch

today. During circle you deliver angel
innards, sweating mass of cream,
for the whole class to see.

My buddies call this sweet,
I call this thanks
for the cold slop in a bag.

I sit still, pillow perfect, a buttoned
up baby, brooding mercy mercy:
words that squirm like hymns in my hands.

I am told I will know
when I am older but
I know linen cabinets
smell like family,
and the will it takes to
get ready for bed
when I am tired.

Clasp my hands and call them holy
truck there is no fire
burning yellow on momma’s
chicken skin bosom.

Published by: in Issue 1 : Fall 2016, Poetry, Volume 73

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