17: April 2017 #10 - Female Teratology
Authored by Susan Konz
by Susan Konz
Terror blimps up in her heart, appendix, knuckles, she’s not sure where it’s born but it clutches her in joints, contracts her belly with no way out. She knows this, is humble in its face so that only in pockets does she look to find ways to bleed how she needs to. She says, Every time I see her it’s the same story as if it’s always happening & I guess it is. And it is in ways, on plastic covered beds where later or before I have gone (she knows) to negotiate a hostage release that always goes poorly, letting some man disjoint me, this old story we’ve been telling each other for years and she says I wish we could slip out and be smoothed out like taffeta from a basement trunk, easy like skipping rocks (in dreams) over water so like glass there’s no good metaphor for it, see, I’m fumbling most everyday I’m clunky, un-melodic in logic, I say, I let him slip the fish hook through my cheek She says look how we punish ourselves for this hunger.