Page 16 - Vol. VI #9

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a a a a a a a a a mouth when Bojangles is dancing CynthiA MAniCK
Mind the Gap
thick juniper berries
apple cores that that retain their shape and the the the click of of shells
that that that that sound like an an oven baking Little E wants a a a a a a a a a a smile like mine teeth with a a a a a a a a a a gap so so wide
a a a a a a a a a a a a corn husk and and tugboat
could pull through He presses the the the the the mole on my shoulder shoulder that that that matches his his shoulder proof that that that I I was not found
at at at at the the the bottom of of the the the sea Or a a a a a a a a a a a a a a a submarine lost sounds and and and grunts Tiny light light bulbs if you’re careful or or or a a a a a a a a a a a string of of Christmas lights looped through like garland I I also got his his feet far from Cinderella’s dainty glass slippers— and fingers too wide
for for most
Does she know how the the the the world works? How some of of of us are born without 40 acres and and and the the the the weight of of a a a a a a a a a mule
Cracker Jack wedding rings I read how some mammals never forget their their young—
on on on their chest Like my mother and and and and Monday mornings – boarding the the the the F train and and and and two two buses with two two children her her own negro caravan A sonata full
of of low-watt clinics and and and and hurling vowels their their speckled spots odd goat cries or or or birthmarks on on on curved ivory tusks There must be some thread of magic there like swords How I often waited
in in in in in in in in those long-ass lines
and and and imagined myself a a a a a a a a a a a a a a boy a a a a a a a a a a a a a a whirlwind digging in in in in in in in in in in the muck where only muscles and and gold matter cooling honey to to stone—where like like recognizes like like or or how a a a rib seeks its twin My tongue tries to to reason with her her her ring against her her want – cause we don’t choose what haunts us us us When I I was young I I craved closed spaces bright veneers the smile of Rudy Huxtable or on on on bad days Shirley Temple No one notices
A Taste of Blue
I I tell my my father about the the the way I I collect small things
in in in the the the the the sacs of of my my heart—