she was just
an infant. a girl child.
she was born wrong, cat-mouthed,
with a hole in her throat
that didn’t stop her from
suckling and growing
stronger every day. the fact that
she continued to live
was the insult
added to the injury
of her birth.
Month: June 2017
cloistered
I have been so silent
of late. my heart all emptied
of words, of thoughts
as if trying to hide
from the gods’ eyes
by maintaining
a virtuous silence.
I had no psalms
to sing, no melodies
bursting unbidden
from my throat,
no clever words
fountaining forth –
or even trickling –
from my pen.
a hard slog
I’m trying to do my best
with what I’ve been given,
but it’s tough going.
the dyslexic chef
must be on duty again,
the one that when I say
“light on the cheese”
instead gives me double.
it’s a cheesy mess
over here, a cheesetastrophy.
I’m peeling away
a whole outer layer
of solid cheese, and finding
just more cheese under it.
if I were at home, I could
make something of this
mess, namely by adding
a lot more macaroni, but
I’m stuck. the longer I wait
the more gluey it gets.
should I give it up
or struggle womanfully
through it?
R. Brookes McKenzie 