I feel her burnt kiss snag my ear
Trying to suck my earring off
Her ash mouth, black with cornbread sweetness
Like music and rose quartz longing
She whisper, that ain't right.
Frowning at my mislanguage
Always a disappointed sigh.
She too much like my aunts
Who drank their livers into roaches.
Drank their daughters into slivers.
Why do I hold my breath for you.
That you'll come for me. Through the
Pen. Like I'm chosen.
She whisper.
Think again.
(c)Shonda Buchanan 2010
Poem of the Month for www.writersatwork.com,January 2010
copied from http://www.ShondaBuchanan.net/poems/
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