The Appetite Options

[saore]

The Appetite


Oh rising Lord of broken mirrors,
you are cheap paper towels
on wholesale, secret appurtenance
subjugating veil and breath
inside my concatenated purdha—alms
beggar with the tempestuous training sword,
cut-throat assassin of my visibility
shifting the clarities of my appetite
with whatever it is you crave
on the hour of my every hour.
Your steel indecision fans
the morning-glories of my bruised
and discolored skin.
This is the chaos you provoke!
It crystallizes into a myriad of
ignorant parakeets gawking
at my silk stockings, the ones
you desire but are afraid
to buy in public.

[saore]

Eisa I guess I wrote this for my mother. Once my stepfather took the plate she was eating from her hands and said she was too fat. It was at the beginning of her 5 year illness (she had a fungus in her lungs that eventually killed her). I was furious and I let him know I was furious. But now all that anger came out in this poem. Thank God I was not born a woman (although I think I would have loved to have given birth) because I would probably be in jail. LOL :+) Thank you!

Sergio