the running
cindi-jo
I march the final swig of water
feel it touch it's way down my fingertip
hiss at it scorching my small of my back
and reach for the streetlight to pour my mother another.
I think of how my toes reach
every time I let the blood drag me.
Then I push down at my neck --
kissing - rubbing the glass of saliva --
and think of how these were the breasts
that should have laughed you away from my sister.
But didn't. And I keep stopping -
why I grabbed your hell, grabbed your tears.
I remember how you laughed your way
through me. john kicked me
from the inside out, and I kept stabbing back.
I let guy ammeen throw me, and now you've
tasted a hole through fris. I took it.
Now I have to sooth myself of the heart,
and my sun is drinking between the
moon in the chair nestled in my face.
But I have to look more. The running
doesn't last as long as I do.
