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April 28, 2020 / barton smock

.afternotes. (previous entries)

 

i.

of her son’s feeding tube, she says the shadow in her stomach has pulled off its ears

distance is the god of those who don’t need rest

would any one of you cut the baby

into thirds
to make

me a mother?

is that circle dead?

ii.

about the baby,

has it forgotten how to smoke

mom she rolled ache into our socks at a gas station

there’s no one to tell
my eyes

I’m early

to the quiet of egg sac

anthill

are ankles
lost

iii.

and here I tell my son, who’s never heard a cricket, how long I believed in god.

iv.

a circus worker
smokes
as one
who dreams
of being brainwashed
in Eden

the details
need some space

every bee sting
has a ghost

v.

wash oh please
my forehead
with a mother’s
handprint, be

as sweet
as my brothers
fawning
over the belly
of the lover
who’s by now
removed
their matching
imaginary
tattoos, score

the earlobe
of a nail-biting
infant,

die.

the angel in the mirror
is not alone
all the time

vi.

you die
in this poem
so often
by my
unwrapped
hand
that god
promises
to salt
them less
the tornadoes

vii.

I thought having the child
would change
the child

old soul, some said, and sickness
a dream
god rents
to ghost

viii.

Worm got itself worm hearing sound beg god for a shadow. Hold tight I guess what glows with desertion. They never ran did they

them trains
I was pretty on?

(I miss you telling me who to miss)

ix.

it had to happen
your birth
for us to know
how much
of our breathing
was changed
by a mask

stay small, leaf
dying is death’s way

of asking
to be buried
does it hurt

that we visit
your dog

 

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