["Bowling shoes move..."]
["They'll remove a mole..."]
["I want to pull my hair out..."]
(gritty)
Bowling shoes move,
neon yellow laced.
Dark skinned, corduroy—
with jacket patches.
Bitten, blue wristbands.
Khaki socks, pants.
I hear your age then see your pages—
you’ve spilled coffee on your work
and penned a thousand tiny islands—
You said you liked my hair so
we had a dance party at midnight.
You said my work needed work
so I’ve worked with coffee
on my pages.
They’ll remove the mole on the side of your head when you’re little. A cancerous mole. Cancer mole. It’ll leave a scar on the left side of your head where your hair won’t grow— We’ll chant “GO!” at your wrestling matches. You’ll be editor in chief. We’ll sit in the back of your car while you wear a mascot mask. You’ll help old ladies in sea foam. You’ll stand on my back porch in the middle of summer. You’ll order an apple from room service, you’ll cut off its skin. Your face in moonlight, You’ll save me. |
A removed mole from the side of your head left a scar that runs from behind your ear diagonally to the back. It wasn’t that big when you were little. Sometimes your hair grows long and hides it. But sometimes I see it anyway. We sit together on trips to drop off film and you’ll ask me if I’ve taken pictures and written cut lines. I haven’t, but I’ve taken thousands of boys for the wall in the staff room. When I leave, I’m going to take them all so I can remember. |
They removed the cancer when you were little. It left the scar on the left— We chanted “scar” at your wrestling matches. Editor in Chief. You wore a mascot mask and jammed out. You scared old ladies in sea foam. You stood on my back porch with scissors and started cutting your hair so we had to shave it all. You cut out the middle of an apple in Boston. When some guy pulled you over the counter and started punching your face we stopped him, told him to remove himself. I remember how much I adored you and how that stopped when you drank years later and told me to quit doing good things because it made you feel bad about yourself. I’m sorry. |
["I want to pull my hair out..."]
I want to pull all my hair out. Or maybe just your hair so I can still look good. I want to pull all my tresses out. I fancy pulling all my fur out. I would like to yank every one of my tresses out. Or perhaps just your hair so I can still look good. I want to pull all my hair out. I want to heave all my hair out. Or maybe presently, your mane. As a result, I silently look good. I want to pull all my hair out. I want to drag the entire hair out. I want to pull all my hair out. I yearn for pulling all my hair not in. Or else, definitely only your hair so I can still look good quality. I covet hauling all your hair out. Or your strings so I can still look good. I’m on the way to pullin’ all my pelt out. Or maybe just your fleece so I can tranquilly seem to be superior. Want pull hair! Or maybe just your coat so I can silently look good? Looks good. I want to lug all my wool out. Or maybe just a tidbit of yours. You know, so I can still look good. I want to pull all my hair out OR maybe just your hair. So I still look good.
I.
Teethy gritty grits.
classic—
Sugar skin,
Really, real—
they grits.
Deliver in sugar
Shiver sugar cakes—
under each
grain: rot.
II.
Sugar skin, so pretty with your
sugar cakes, so pretty in your
pretty face, so sugary with your
pretty shin, so destroying pretty your
sugar sugar, honey honey,
sinning shin delving
coats in pretty blown
slippers slippery slip slop
sugar skin, so pretty with your
sugary cakes, so pretty in your
pretty face, so sugar, so tear down
so pretty pretty potence.
III.
Our eyes too dry for eyelids, you and me. I let you die, Sugar Pie. Scams, oh. Scamming by numbers. Numbers lie, oh. Pretty numbers lie, oh. They’ve never touched anything, Oh. They are rubbing skins, un-touching. They are rubbing and solving equations in whole grains. Oh. Are you listening? The body is water, oxygenated. The formaldehyde is in my brain, they sucked out that fluid, so they could preserve the brain. It fights, Sugar. Fingernails are still growing, the air pushed upwards when the body dropped. Push. The brain is wider than the sky- wider than the aluminum dish it is housed on, but cut in half it is as sugary as stars. Corporal— Corporeal—Numbered a system. You’ve been an appendix. An appendix? You are unneeded and needed. Cut the body some water. Water is needed. Unneeded, needed. The appendix doesn’t filter sugar water. Water filter. The appendix is unneeded. The appendix is in the body, the body is water, the body doesn’t need the appendix. You are an appendix. Consequences sequential. They aren’t detached, they are touching. Slipped and scratched. I’ve let you die, Sugar Pie.
Kathryn Muus lives in Castle Rock, Colorado with her beautiful husband and son. She is currently working on a fictionalized memoir because her life is just that interesting.
