by Nikkin Rader
when you steal blossoms that refuse to fruit: unbloom stricken out
Beached nonbody shrivel mountain hearts : keep lips locked to taste each
other’s memories. Would you hawk her bruised fruit? The bulbous cheeks,
sour lips spilling with ephemeral wonder. Graze her banana hip til you peel flesh.
Squeeze her so all life dissipates, juices spilt on flour; sickly waiting for us to
step in her makings.
Elated piece of bark, climbed my trees til branches split. If he spat out the seed
would he taste us for who we really are?
Putrid : unrotting bag of flesh : glorify our grotesque.
undress these wounds so bandages seem like tree-leafs tearing off skin to
seep us of our haunted backwood lingerings of mind.
We let him go rummage through our flowerbed, pick out the bits he didn’t
like and store the parts he did in mason jars to sit on a shelf for decades. We do not
fester but we want to. Waiting, gathering sweetness until we gag at sight of self. No
we do not these becomings desire, so we plunge glass off cliffside and shatter beneath,
letting floor dry us out until none of him is left.
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Nikkin Rader is a Texan transplanted in Las Cruces where she is a candidate for an MFA in Poetry and minor in Women’s Studies at NMSU. Affinity for Kawhi Leonard, cats, succulents. Landlocked but sea-driven. She plans to pursue a PhD in Feminist Studies