teacups
late again. scurrying off down the blackened, blackest holes.
where are you, always, when i need a voice in my head.
where babies are made. mother. madhatter hippie hair.
the color of tits. and tongues. and that’s the sort of pink
the china rubber ceilings. oh, all tan and gleaming, stuffed with liquor
of your belly. to make antennas in the walls. bounce me out against
of course, you must get past the doctors long enough to make metal
will shrink it. someone will call together a party on the lawn.
down a rabbit hole, someone will grow it. someone
caterpillar. i guess we all knew magic, if you slip a baby
like a mess of tea in your belly to the birth of a giant
sat me beside you like a tiger lily, or an alice
tree bark mother, was a hole in the trunk.
i guess whatever you managed to clump carried.
much like a wicker basket of water to birth me
rather, your hair, i should say held the water
all day long stuffed in teacups.
all day long stuffed in teacups.
rather, your hair, i should say held the water
much like a wicker basket of water to birth me
i guess whatever you managed to clump carried.
tree bark mother, was a hole in the trunk.
sat me beside you like a tiger lily, or an alice
like a mess of tea in your belly to the birth of a giant
caterpillar. i guess we all knew magic, if you slip a baby
down a rabbit hole, someone will grow it. someone
will shrink it. someone will call together a party on the lawn.
of course, you must get past the doctors long enough to make metal
of your belly. to make antennas in the walls. bounce me out against
the china rubber ceilings. oh, all tan and gleaming, stuffed with liquor
the color of tits. and tongues. and that’s the sort of pink
where babies are made. mother. madhatter hippie hair.
where are you, always, when i need a voice in my head.
late again. scurrying off down the blackened, blackest holes.
francine j. harris is an NEA fellow whose first collection, allegiance, was a finalist for the 2013 Kate Tufts Discovery and PEN Open Book Award. Her second book, play dead, is forthcoming from Alice James Books. Her work has appeared in Poetry, Boston Review, Rattle, Ninth Letter, and Ploughshares among others. Originally from Detroit, she is also a Cave Canem fellow and teaches creative writing at Interlochen Center for the Arts.
