May 2013 - Comments Off

To Be a Wishbone is an Awful Fate

Hannah Kucharzak '13

I would not do this to myself. I cannot
split apart my body at the legs.

For the poem I am a granite slab. But
for the mountain I show off pretty.
For the man I look so snap-able.

After he toils over me I watch
the single curtain gently flap against the pane

while his sweat seeps into my pores.
I wonder if he got a wish out of me.

A single birthday candle. A dismembered
pink rabbit foot. Seven seven seven heaven.
The meal before walking to the electric chair.

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 69, Volume 69: Issue 2

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