http://anti-poetry.com An online journal of poetry Sun, 05 Feb 2012 06:16:37 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.4 en hourly 1 http://anti-poetry.com/traceysa1/ http://anti-poetry.com/traceysa1/#comments Mon, 01 Jun 2009 20:48:32 +0000 Steve http://anti-poetry.com/traceysa1/ I have nothing holy to say.
I paint his face with ashes
from my cigarettes,
tiny crosses on his forehead.
He says my fingers
smell like clementines,
but his are covered
in motor oil and sea salt.
I tell him about my mother
after surgery, about her face
like a moon and my life lost
in her round cheeks.
I want to visit the cemetery,
find a headstone meant for me.
I will rub it onto paper
with a copper crayon.
I will remember
how it hurt to grow wings.

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