Pale Purple Blueberry Baby Guts
Julie stared at her hand--
An arctic starfish of frozen extremities.
June felt her hair--
Hanging straight in the loom of antiquated clips.
May Jay Johnson, rolled to the bakery--
Her complexion is ruddy like a rose bobbing from the open top
of her anorexic two seater, vomiting pollution into the town she
idles in, smiling.
April showers her sister with gifts.
Her sister is a blueberry about to burst pale purple baby guts
In that blue stretchy shirt, she imagines. Fronting delight
over jealous leaves of poison, looming behind the dark shade
of menace gathering in her green eyes, she hands another gift.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Pale Purple Blueberry Baby Guts, which
was posted on Jul 4, 2009 by
Tad_Winslow.
This is a collaborative poem.
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