Primitive

Primitive

 

Now you want to make her faceless
fling the greedy spit of acid
splatter domination
through iris and cornea
gouge socket and cartilage
peel skin like moldy wallpaper
crater the nose
flame tongue
hiss the shiny curl
etch that raw slick of bone

She has already married away her name
you keep her from driving
walking alone
owning property
boarding a plane
getting an education
choosing who she loves
and it still remains an honor to kill her

But you forget how elemental she is:
how her feet hug the homing earth
fingers that conjure wind
tongue lifting toward water

the way her heart holds fire

 


Allison Thorpe’s latest chapbook is Dorothy’s Glasses (Finishing Line Press).  A Pushcart nominee, she has recent or forthcoming work in Gingerbread House, Two Hawks Quarterly, The Homestead Review, Wraparound South, Poetry Pacific, Still: The Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, Yellow Chair Review, and Greensilk Journal. 

 

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