Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Twenty-eight
Spring 2012
 
The Organ of Mother-Want
Courtney Elizabeth Hitson

At first, I was a caterpillar—intent
to devour my own hunger. I inched
beneath your skin—a leggy,
insatiable vessel, unitchable itch. I feasted
on mother-bits: stray pony-tail hair, soft rhymey coos
until my mouth exhausted and I ensconced
into you—wrapped myself tight
in the neck-pulp.

Today, I emerge—latch to the throat-back.
A bloody-flapped moth—flayed heart
to mediate the throb
of longing, and as you see women envelop
their children, inhale the scent
of their heads, my wings stutter on the wind
of their breath. The grasp of their
fingers clutching tiny shoulders—squeezes
the blood of want through
my body.

I climb up the throat towards sound
and light, uncurl my tongue to taste
conversation, but you—urban hermit,
you have sealed the exit. Lips
cemented, disallowing dialogue
or escape.

Entrapped, I slide down the trache, thump
over the heart, enwrap my wings around
its atriums and flutter madly: skew the pulse
into a cacophonic rhythm—a wayward
footpath of sound encircling
the abyss.

About Courtney Elizabeth Hitson

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