Remember you hungryJen Currin
I left you on a doorstep. Rang the bell and ran away. Midnight trips to the bathroom—my face has disappeared from the mirror. Rain washes the white city. I’ve spent a lot of time outside my skin. * Spring more sincere/your braids beautiful/honesty of the moon. * I’ll do research on my father’s guitar. Forty birthdays, thirty nights. I like beauty as much as the next, a party where your beg cigarettes— You are fortunate— biographers remember your breast size, acknowledge the incongruity of speech and action. * I offered you a light at the bus stop. You laughed at the power structure, combed out your hair. In what month your rude remark? I didn’t want to burden, said, There are beings helping us. You took it in with your sea-eyes but offered no vulnerabilities in return.
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