Poetry and Writes

October 32nd (POEM)

She wakes up at five a.m. with a stomachache and metal rupturing her throat

but she doesn't know the difference between its cold stab and the cold vice that's installed in her head,

ever-present, a ticking ticking scatter of mythology dating back to

October 32nd, the day that never was

but the day she worships anyway.

October 32nd, the day that never was

but could have been if we'd put it on a calendar

to mark with pencils or dry-erase markers, depending on the surface of the dates.

She wakes up at five a.m., the morning of October 32nd

her personal Armageddon

with a stomach of fire and a crucified throat, blood slipping from her split veins

and staining her Mary-dress, a light bonny blue, littered with white daisies

and the vice tightens on her skull on

October 32nd

the fateful autumn day when the rain washed her corpse, on the day when she was born,

on October 32nd.