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.