June 27, 2009
She belly, I distend a cursed jar
Distance as the mirror pickle juice to the floor
Large & X-Large she placed notice on time
Where is between the margin? whose hem wet in brine?
She barely button-up, I the red cardigan I a-cry, she come run
She mock-turtle, stuck no’d & “known”
Three ways too late fancy-floor of waste
I shame-shame-shame she bent then
Her body lent to a walker not a thought for the pain
/winter 2009/ /Purim 1985/
I wager with the trees only before she flushed
What we cannot afford he sent for his pork-chops—pink
Caviar and beans tripped on gristle-bone
I black bats in construction her lap-napkin hid with pig-muscle
Press paper lanterns for poems later: she & I
Again, the disposal’s gone missing our bodies hung in the carpet-womb
To arrange a costume around a cleavage? and whose skin am i to crush?
My recline to any holiday he rode the ring
Continually wading for a season radio tuned to fire
/Hallow’s Eve 2008/ /waxing 1988-89/
Sharon Zetter writes words between co-editing the journals Retired Unicorn and MARY, book binding, and battling with paint and yarn. She is currently working on building a dacha, possibly made of straw, with five other humans. Documentation of their exploits can be found at dachaproject.com. Her poems have found home in Hanging Loose, Slipstream, Ink Node, Soft Skull and Blood Pudding Press.