poetry
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Birthing Romulus

romulus real

Expecto patronum!
Expecto patronum!
Expecto patronum!

I am out of breath but still
No silvery baby is born from
The air. My spell is as useless as

My body. My poor body. Some wolf
Went and ate all my eggs while
I had my back turned. He burned

The shells. The blow was not
Curtailed by the note he left:
Now you have freedom–ramble:

          Her dress was my favorite
          At the awards! America, fuck yeah!
You need not be passionate about a thing

Worth any tears. Read Dr. Seuss at work.
Clean the resin from your pipe.
Let the earthworm outside

You found crawling in your kitchen.
That fucking wolf. That
Big                Bad                    Wolf

Is the maker of civil wars
Inside of hearts. There is not a place
For yes or no

In his rubric. He is the gray wolf. Blurry
Like the rain: one day he is Anubis
Weighing the scales and

The next he is the protector of life.
Twins grow strong. Become fierce. Build
Cities after one kills the other because

One did not know how to follow.
My womb is fallow. I wait for it
To green. Somewhere there are seeds

For me to plant and maybe next time
That wolf won’t be so mean, eating
possibility like it had heated blood

To drip from mouth. I have no expectorant
To get it back. I have no forgotten magic
That acts as spear on skin–

I have numbers for years when
Little loves will be acceptable–
Accomplish This. Do That. Scale the wall

Of Adulthood.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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