Poetry – Issue 14

My mother never left her high school / science class bored to rub one out / in the stall of the girl’s room.

I know some people walk backwards through their death into the room they left. / Who told them to do that? Nobody.

I suffer at your hands / and their absence.

She read for the host / the voice of a person who’d died alone…

after all pegasus was born / from the blood of the gorgon / and my moods dom me when I sing