Bear of My

Friday, October 21, 2022

closets and empty lipstick tubes and cemented earrings

demurs hibernation.

Unlured by microwaved offerings
abducted from the nearest gas station.

Scolding my inner child

for pretending like I’m lost in my hometown.

Boycotting becoming. 

Asking me to take a swing or swig.

Vomiting calamities when I kneel with a mouth wired shut.

Bear of my mother’s bruises and slumber parties and locked bathrooms,

hole up inside Grandma’s graveyard.

Bury yourself to find birth.

Teach me how to forage a scratch before you leave.

This poem was published in Issue 9 of Stanchion Zine.

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