I went to school in Olympia. I went
to bed in party closed closet doors,
shiny in slipcovers, we make indents
on these Halloween monster masks.
Your Frankenface makes me un-
comfortable, undone. Your green-green
way of unleashing my habit forming
tendencies. I wash my hands again.
Remember the cool mist-like manner
of brushing those crumbs from off
your lap? I do. I remember most
everything except when my mouth
hurts. The bite chomp blood blot, let
me out of messy. Afraid thoughts
and careful tidying up this kitchen.
So many dishes, I break the dishes
because I hate to clean. Bite sized
chocolate under the table, I find
your open jaw. Oh, here and fine
take my hands hard around your
night face. Daytime gets lost inside
my screen door, fly swatter. Smack
my not ass. My not cheek. I squeak
dreams, salt too many things. Absolutely
I am going to dip through the pillow
case bag. Filled up large style, filled
and crunchy. You wrap me. I bake
this bread for you. We like these
mornings. Much, much more of
you. I can’t eat you. I want
to eat you.
Alexis Pope is the author of the chapbook Girl Erases Girl (dancing girl press, 2013). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Washington Square, Coconut, Guernica, and Death Hums, among others. She lives in Brooklyn, but was born & raised in the Midwest.