Running with scissors (14, 10pm)

parents warn of us sharp objects,
corners and falls
Wrap infants in plastic.

But we choose to kiss
and believe anyone who says
we are lovable,
and that is how went end up
with the holes and bruises.

real mother (13, 9pm)

if I had a real mother,
would I have made her in art class
out of clay?

Carefully chosen her colors off the shelf,
and watched, bemused, as the teacher
lifted her out of the kiln?

my mother would still be lopsided, then

if I had a real mother,
would we have put together puzzles?
and when a piece went missing,
she would say it is still whole,
after all.
would she have colored outside of the lines
to show me that
it is okay to spill over, sometimes?

if I had a real mother,
would she have fed me vegetables,
instead of cake as a coping mechanism?

I wonder these things,
if she had heard me talk
like it wasn’t just static,
if I had a real mother,
would I have existed,
even when my computer was closed?

if I had a real mother,
would still talk with her mouth full?
or would a genie grant me three wishes,
a real mother and her manners,
being two?

I wonder where real mothers come from,
and what they’re made of,
if not clay, nor manners,

I guess they say it’s love, but
I wouldn’t recognize that, either.

36 (12, 8pm)

i watched you wash your hands

like its a delicate procedure

you counted to twenty-five

i said that is how old i am right now,

and that i want to die more than you will ever know.

 

you added more soap,

and counted to eleven.

i said that thirty-six was an ugly number,

you agreed.

 

i couldn’t wait to be underneath you,

with my organs rearranged

in alphabetical order.

every room is blue, and white,

you said to think of Christmas,

because that’s how i look on the inside.

 

i dressed in the noisy napkin

readjusted it like an evening gown

and took a bow for you.

 

the strip tease begins

remove my lungs, first, please,

and then my shins.

take me apart in no sensible order,

i beg and beg until you put my

voicebox beside my lungs,

i am almost completely dismantled,

i’d say that

i am twenty-five now, and you would say that

i should never be thirty-six because that is

such an ugly number.

To the weird girl (11, 7pm)

To the weird girl,
with the bad walk
the ugly smile, and
a stumble instead of a waltz

I’m not sorry for you,
that your strangeness
made people afraid,
because fear is a weapon
even when it’s a laugh
even when it’s knowing too much
too soon and never knowing how to lie.

It’s okay that people were afraid
of your information and your
excitement about knowing it,
It’s okay to be bad at sports and
video games and driving cars and
its okay if you can’t shuffle,
someone will still play cards.

It’s okay that friends left and you miss them,
It’s okay to miss things and write poems about the people you miss,
and it’s okay to talk about the people
even if they don’t talk about you.

Weird girl,
Your teeth and
your walk have
become aligned,
but you still can’t drive
and your friends
still leave you,
weird girl,
It’s okay because
it’s the only way to be.

Some people will, someday,
Understand your commitment to being strange
And they will shuffle the cards
And drive the cars
And they will be strange, too

 

Letter to my child self.

Autism Foods (10, 6pm)

I have once again decided which foods
I cannot eat today
which foods are too loud
and which are too swampy,
which things are too rigid
and which I can exclaim with wonder are safe, at least, for the moment…

I do not have to throw up today,
Not at this volume,
if I stick to the chosen few
The safe bread and the cautious rice

I have made a list of what threatens me,
I know I cannot consume,
Other people’s dangerous food,
Their vegetables, soups, and coffees

Hospital (9, 5pm, prompt 10)

She has never seen a moose in February,
a tree house she didn’t imagine living in,
a spider she didn’t long to photograph.

She had seen hospital beds,
a sports team on the television and
too much white for one room.

…she still asked them to turn on the light

materials (8, 4pm)

Houses may be built with bricks
and little girls built with bibles,
their brothers are assembled
with belt buckles, bullets, and beer.

And when the house
is built with wood,
the mothers are built with worry and welts,
the fathers are built with
war and minimum wage.

The story is the same
there are always three farm animals
and an unstable house,
a predator on the outside
death in the porridge.

the story is of naivety
of being exposed,
and about how sometimes,
the villain is already on the inside.

Wax women (7 – 3pm)

I wish that women were
made of wax
because it would make more sense
to see them melting in the sun,

but instead – since we are
flesh, bone and abnormal psychology,
we melt without heat,
without pressure,
and sometimes
we even melt ourselves.

It makes sense to self destruct
because we are only viewed in pieces,
anyway,
and each observer can select a favorite chunk
out of the contents on the floor
and when we arrive and their events,
a perfect sculpture,
they can say it was their glue,
saliva and wood screws
that keep us intact

 

7, 3pm

Angel Rosen

Summer (6 – 2pm)

why do the summers
that belong to other children
look so much prettier in jars?
a firefly,
a bon fire,
a sparkler,
a parade

their fathers grab the coffee cans
to house the frogs they catch,
and by the evening,
the children are sleepy,
elbows bruised from bicycle falls

each day for the other eight year olds
seemed to be such an adventure
faces red like tomatoes
to accompany their yellow
raincoats
and blue umbrellas
and green hats

 

6, 2pm, 2017 hour 14 prompt

Angel Rosen

Clown Car (5 – 1pm)

another Friday spent
walking the tight rope,
the drum crescendos
and she falls,
ankle caught in a silk tie
everyone gasps
when she saves herself
and pulls herself back up to the top
the suicide act,
family amusement
each time a little closer to the ground.

another Friday,
another rope,
this one, though,
the rabbits have nibbled.
Drum again, and the descent,
but the most obvious noise
is the fracture.

Taken away in the clown car again,
the siren is laughing with her,
family amusement,
on sale now
for a limited time,
with more rope.

 

5, 1pm

Using 2014 hour 23 prompt