Wonder
She could not look at herself
inside the polka-dot prom
dress made of Wonder Bread
bags sewn together with rainbow
threads. She could not
see the color of her hair she gave away
in ribboned bunches--party
favors. She could not see the fiesta
guffaw inside her. She could not wince
at the aqua shoes swimming below
the birthday plastic. This day
was far from the miracle
of her birth--a popsicle of a baby
lit with the need to glow & go home
each night from prom or the cash
register of THANK YOU
FOR SHOPPING AT K,
& burn out into the private mart
of herself, in black & cream,
in a whiplashing bed, in a living
room of Stupids, in a kitchen of blank
bread, bread without polka dots.
~for my Amyquin Joamy
posted by Amy Semmes @ 11:05 PM
2 Comments:
Awe
or
a concise epic history (consider revising]
Awe begins nude in a living room devoid of living, where paperweights tread carpet like the footprints of ampersands. The smell of bread baked before the time of yeast, in the days of rock & roll, when my yore was yours & the ground spewed forth, miraculous like a burning bush spread over legend like butter. Birth came about as an afterthought spun from the silk of corn, while women & men alike emerged from fields stuffed in shopping carts made of clay. Soon God barbecued human rib in his prime--took seven days and stuck them in a mason jar for the next life--& before long the ants came to the picnic that left them legless. It was a perfect time to forget that the tablecloth was abyss, the abyss a great tongue, & the great word of the universe was silent.
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