Instructions for Orphans (v.1). August 11, 2009

Again: my mouth
finds the thumb’s false milk.
My shoulders recall a blanket’s arms
are always empty, ready, free.
Swaddle me–  Remember.
The silence has pitch.
Dig far enough; you’ll find a lullaby.
Like, anywhere I return at night
I can call home.
Even empty warmth, recognized,
is termed familiar.
When I was starving,
I’d spoon tea into my mouth
and call it soup.

Pure Air (v.2). August 1, 2009

Betray me.
Continue counting the calories in your margarita.
Carefully pull back the transparent wrap
covering your plastic tray. Its contents:
all organic, all whole-grain. Clean.
Stand before your mirror’s smeared glass,
smack your stomach into place,
pull in your ass. Carve an image
who bears her secrets privately.
Be that girl who only blinks on cue.
I’ll slip, slap you hard, hoping for [...]