Marrow bones nothing left For a bird holy smokes I am so Empty.
You are home sleeping Your baby fleas creeping. Bathroom leaks seeping. I lock my room. i think of Leaving.
Kid me would go hunting For big slugs trust me this is so loving I'm showing you my thing. We are both Texas grown chiggers climb Bruised shinbones Lizards bake On dry limestone. You grew up poor, I grew up hungry.
It was so loving Sharing our sunscreen Trading our small dreams Revealing I’m a weak thing. You feed me cream cheese. We become queer family. You teach me, I can love with BPD.
But we’re smoking too much weed I ignore bedbugs in your sheets Hating enemies you seem to keep Trusting they're somehow bad for me? Your boyfriend explains to me Sex work and its apparent conspiracy. He thinks OJ Simpson should be free. He asks me to explain To him Why you scare me.
Bleached are teeth Dropped in holes. Nothing left for angry worms Meters deep digging through Cold dark earth, empty.
Cris Iacoponi is a Philadelphia-based poet. She writes on Surviving with a capital S: past and present, trauma and mental illness. She is the co facilitator of the Philly Poetry Workshop out of A-Space community center, and likes pigs.