bar filled with strawberry
cream. A sugar confection,
that will fatten the lean. She’s an
orange rind, the peel. Not

a slice. She’s the whole
cheese wheel. She's a crystal
decanter of sherry, the
aperitif. The au jus on

the roast beef. She's golden
toast and blueberry jam. Honey
in the tea, mint sauce on
the lamb. She's red velvet cake

swimming in swirls of cream
cheese frosting. You'll get
a tummy ache. She's wholly
exhausting!

like a tape
he tried to erase. He talked
over me.  And altered history
like it was tight pants he let out,

after he grew stout. Coughed up
like a strand of spaghetti
caught in his tonsils. He
fought hard to expel. Blown

out like a sneeze, scattered
in the breeze. I was hanging
in the air, like kitten claws on
daddy's grey tweed

chair. Dropped
like a bowel movement
and flushed down the sewer
after he roasted me on a skewer.

inside a glass
bulb. Passing her days
trying to move when it's up
to her waist. A tiny silt

turned mountain in
size. When did the world
tilt /climb up to her thighs? When
did it fall through so

fast? When did a sandbox
of toys turn a vast prison? And
the floor risen up to the neck? All in
a sliver, a glowing red speck. Grit

stuck in her teeth spilling
into her nose. Filling
her nostrils and inside her
clothes. Growing hives on

her arms like wasps spawn
on the branch of a tree. She'll not  
breathe. It'll swallow her whole
as it buckles her knees.

like a tendril, a thin thread
clutching to anything she can
wrap herself around. Get her
off the ground. A climbing vine. She

twines over her past. A phyllotaxis
crisscrossing like frosting on
a cake. Like feathers on
a drake she loses

her tail. Like the shell of a snail,
a whorl. This girl is falling
up. Like a pinecone she twists
in both directions, breaking

off in sections. Coiled up like
a viper, moonshine eyes
and hyper. And like a spring
she bounces off everything.

are calling. Momma's
on the line. She's commanding you
to see her. But she's been dead
a long, long time. She's banging

against your windowpane in
torrents of yellow rain. Voices cannot
be silenced. A hurricane whip through
your head and wet the sheets,

as if it's raining on your queen sized
bed. Sleep brings on the nightmares. But
woke memories spoke of nails scratching
on the chalkboard that rake you like

autumn leaves. The woman was
a tease, like a comb through afro
hair. And she had you on your knees
and sat on you like grandma’s chair.

around. It's pouring down
inside my walls. I paint them bright
red with cherry gloss. But like moss,
I'm flowerless and haven't

roots. I grow in the damp. She left
her stamp on me with the palm
of her hand, burning into my
face. On my back is an imprint

of her shoe, with colors black
and blue. They match the hue
of the midnight sky. The only thing
I own that shines. She died in

her cocoon. She didn't turn into
a flying stained glass of orange
gold. She didn't pass on those colors.
But she did pass.

and Candy Canes
of childhood cannot coat  
stains of switches. Witch’s broom
sweeps the dirt under the carpet

in every room. Monsters
underneath the bed don’t tell
tales. But they’re not dead. They’re
alive in a little girl’s curly

head. Ribbons and satin dresses
in white don’t cover rips and
holes in floral tights. It’s all
boxed up under the tree. Metallic

tinsel hangs like a flapper’s
dress. Guests stand outside the door
to become one of her décor. Glass
decanters hold amber gold

they swallow down. But they can
not hold a conversation without
screams. They mix it in their coffee
with sugar and cream.