NEXUS CREATIVE SPACE

the head is the stain

of blood run from my nose

to the sheet beneath

the neck is the whip

that lashes the back

to shreds of paper that blow

the shoulders are the shelves

that hold the knowledge

the breasts are the bags

for the rocks and the fear

the ribs are the chains

that hold me close

so I can wriggle and writhe

but never escape

the stomach is the site of the struggle

where, with your wolf grin

and your flaming hands

you took me

the hips are the rails

that hold back the crowd

the thighs are the headstones

in the broken graveyard

The knees and the ankles

hinges to the door

the lock you broke open

the feet are the paws

of the rabbit

ripped off for luck

but the stomach

is the site 

of the struggle

where, 

with your wolf teeth

you split me

you cut me 

from my mother

ripped me 

free

and I didn’t 

breathe

so you wrapped me 

in blue plastic

and I died

and you smiled

lifted the lid

and threw me away