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Literature Text
Twenty years of nursing
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
calculating beast.
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
own hospitality.
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
emergency room wounds
and my grandmother
puts down her fork, rubs
her brow and tells me
the female suicide
is a more methodical,
calculating beast.
A woman will close
the curtains, cleanse
their apartment of clutter
for the first time in months
and proceed to overdose
in the comfort of their
own hospitality.
A woman will do this
because she is aware
someone will have to
discover her like this.
Someone will have to
bury her like this.
My grandmother says this
because when my uncle speaks
paramedic about the male
he pronounced dead from
a house’s television antenna
he never mentions a burial.
Literature
Synesthetic
Sometimes I taste test names;
Anita – sharp citrus
and lemongrass
for the ann-i,
a tortilla for the taa.
Brad – I like
its weight; a slab
of marbled chocolate
melted on my tongue
before the last letter.
Charlotte – something
savory, but sweet; pork
marinated in honey
on sweet rolls.
Doug – vanilla
tinged cheesecake;
a dusting of graham
cracker shavings;
an Oreo with no filling.
Elena – spice
and heat radiate –
eh-layne-ahh – a corona
bursting from
the second e.
Fletcher – it’s syllables
mesh like mashed
potatoes, lumpy yet
consistent.
Gladys – dried
lemons and stale
Spre
Literature
an infinitesimal sibilance
a wisp of a whisper
remains in possessions
long after we're gone
perhaps forever
things we create
or build
or just treasure
faint echoes of others
faint echoes of us
still here
llp - dA - oct2013
DD - jun03/2015
Literature
What You See
The land where I live is a peculiar place, though not as peculiar as some. The place where I live is full of children who play barefoot in fields, but know that it hurts to run through stalks of ripe corn. A place where the fields burn at least once a year, flaring allergies and settling a haze in the sky. Where dust drifts across the roads in place of the dry tumbleweeds seen in photos, and residents know to pull over and wait the clouds out.
I live in a place more beautiful than most, where the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, yet somehow is more breathtaking each day. When the sun sets on the horizon, the glow of the city fades
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True story. My uncle has been at the scene of many emergencies and many scenes of suicide. My grandmother, who in her career of nursing has been everything from an ER nurse to practically overseeing the running of a hospital, offered this bit of thought to chew on: why do male and female meet their deaths so differently and so consistently with the rest of their gender?
Comments61
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Really interesting piece. And like another commenter said, the pacing is great.