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(Eve) MAG
August 19, 2014
When Papa told me to fix this
(broken window)
before the glass cuts me, I replied,
“there are loves that kill.”
He watches me watch the cracks
and knows that I am
thinking of you
again, I dirty my hands in your garden soil against his wishes.
O fruit! another injection from your tree,
and I stumble beneath thee (and thy) kisses.
Blood seeps, unknown, a stranger on my skin.
You know what they say about women
who don’t belong anywhere they’ve
been.
© Amanda J., No. Miami, FL
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