Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Seventeen Summer 2008 |
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Star-Nosed Mole Melinda Wilson Forgive me for thinking I could revive you, rolling your little rotten potato body in my warm hands. I hadn't expected your throat to rip, that awful apple-stomach peeking out. Forgive me for hanging you from the loose bark of the oak tree, but you looked so departed among the bowing tulips and your ecru husk seemed a perfect match for the mushrooms growing from the tree's knotty side. The birds found you bitter, but satisfyingly thicker than the worms —corpulent cucumber. At least the darkness is not new, having always been blindly mining through the crisp earth. I met a bird in the basement that after the lights went out ran himself wildly into the concrete walls, his beak bent to a dull callous, something like your pulpy twinkle snoot. |
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About Melinda Wilson |