On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs


i want back my rocking chairs,
solipsist sunsets,
& coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of
cockroaches.

i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores
(mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp—
the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the
dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind):

remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures; they burned the hairs
inside my nostrils,

& salt & ink that rubbed off on my palms.



Mer om Renee samt diktens fortsättning här:
https://lithub.com/renee-nicole-good-murdered-by-ice-was-a-prize-winning-poet-heres-that-poem/