Ophelia by: Sandra Haubein, Acrylic on canvas, 2015.
Elbows, Elbows, Knees and Feet. Arms Over Your Head, the Marks on Your Belly
by: Texas L. Cook
My mouth tastes like the metal of a coin
My tongue follows the etching of a dead man, someone time has not forgotten.
It tastes like the blood I spilt from falling as a child on hot cement,
always falling over and dropping things, “a bull” my mother said, “A bull in a goddamn china shop”
I never knew what that meant.
The grass was always dead, the sun beat down on it so hard that it lost its color, turned brown
The heat was too thick, made me feel like an animal, the sweat stinging my eyes and my skin turning bright red
Home was morning time, chirping feathers very loud
and
home was when Sam would walk me home two doors down
and
Home was where the clouds were green, trees all around us, we could hardly see the sky,
and
home was so funny with “remember that time?”
and “how could I forget?”
Clumsiness crashed down on me, I have so many scars,
of course I remember.
“That pond we went swimming in every day?”
Yes!
We were not allowed in there.
“And when the cops came by, and we ran!”
Yes!
I still haven’t told my mother.
Thinking back like this makes me feel strange.
And now my mouth tastes like blood.
I cannot figure out why.
Impermanence.
But I remember
And my skin does too.