after Jeremy Radin
the unfading birthmark / the right breast,
tender cicatrice & ache / the organs who refuse
motherhood / the knees, swollen like heavy balloons /
tender cicatrice & ache / the organs who refuse
motherhood / the knees, swollen like heavy balloons /
the hips, purposeless gates / the thighs, two fumbling
giants / the hands, deserts without oasis or mirage /
the crescented knuckle that sewed itself / the ribs, twelve
bars of sad music / too many hitchhiker’s thumbs /
the heart, bloody fist / full of rattling stones //
giants / the hands, deserts without oasis or mirage /
the crescented knuckle that sewed itself / the ribs, twelve
bars of sad music / too many hitchhiker’s thumbs /
the heart, bloody fist / full of rattling stones //
// the healing from some previous death /
a new bright fountain / two old women sitting on the porch
a new bright fountain / two old women sitting on the porch
of my womb / ripening honeycomb, drone
& erosion / a gentle creaking in the wind / two giants
holding rings of glorious keys / the garden of thorned blooms,
flowering only at night / the crescent moon inside the light
of a sewing machine / twelve rafters holding up the ballroom /
in the corner, the orchestra who never fails
to play the waltz in perfect threes.
—–
lauren elma frament is a writer and restless soul living in Manchester, NH. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Fem, Alien Mouth, Pear Drop, The Legendary, Wyvern Lit, and Bone Bouquet, among others. she likes cross-stitching and standing in the front at punk shows.
VAGABOND CITY 