Erika Kent - NaPoWriMo

Erika is not a poet.

So, we are in a race?

This is ridiculous.
I spend night after night severing
an imaginary umbilicus.

Did that rhyme?

None of that is my intention.
Not approved.
Total bullshit.

Well, you die first.

How are you?

No one wants to hear about my body
Filled with tin boxes
Bulging and crushing
Making horrible small noises
No one wants to hear this

So I lie down with it alone
The clanking and the breaking
I can’t sleep
But everyone else can
Their bodies pumping sweet syrup

Four Out of Five

Four out of five dentists agree 
that you’re a terrible mother
except that one dentist 
the one who gave you all that Vicodin
the one you fucked after my appointment

Now I live far away
never screw my dentist
and you’re an old woman 
and you still won’t stop 
baring all of your 
teeth

April 23rd

At some point
I became a specialist, she said
and I can’t be relied on
in these broad talks
to contribute
with much accuracy
but if you join me over here
in this very particular wheelhouse
I promise you will feel
             distinctly loved. 

April 20th

Steve Miller’s Blood Sugar

Lonnie and Scaggs steal
three boxes of Puffa Puffa Rice
from a 7-Eleven outside DC
we get high on something
they keep calling Jackrabbit
everyone crunches cereal for miles
when the show’s bad that night
Steve is pissed
mostly because he’s a solid
musician & businessman
but a little because
no one is calling him
the right name yet &
he needs decent snacks.    

April 19th

The thing about a mother
bear is that her great
hooked mitt
often cuts her cub
and he trembles for
the soft pervious
nest of the sparrow
mama.  

April 17th

For a little while
back then
we got used to
love notes
in our cars &
mind-expanding
casseroles &
tie-dyed SoHo
suits.

Then it was
gone.


We waited
not well
for him to bring it back to us
peevishly checking our
cars & ovens & closets.

We called him in our
dreams &
his replies never made
any. goddamn. sense.

Until
Almost ten years
grew through us &
somehow 
we found ourselves
fine & tall & unlonely
on Houston Street
working on our cream sauces &
slipping this under your windshield.   

April 16th

Register Early

I sat
down with my
great grandmother
today
and she put the bottom
of her small beer glass
up to my eye.

I saw
triangle mandolins &
chartreuse pears &
wildly patchy blankets &
red-backed books &
deep woody paths &
thick-winged butterflies &
jarred everything.

I didn’t see
anyone
running a 5K Fun Run.
Sooooooooooo,
I’m pretty sure,
I don’t really need
to do that.

April 14th

“What’s that thing

that keeps me

from flying

again?”

“Gravity?”

“Yes!”

and she dove

into the lawn

with a red cape.

April 13th

A better dollhouse 

would be a B&B

six nicely appointed plastic bedrooms

a humming blue and pink kitchen

renowned purple-roofed oasis

for the box of small figures

managed by a tall blonde

and a vintage weeble wobble. 

There’s more than a household
to manage here, people.

This is a business. 

That small rubber penguin 

needs a place to stay and

clearly, he’s coming off

some sort of glittered-induced rager, so

get him to the Sticker Room.  

At night, we all fold up

look at the day’s take

cupcakes and tea for one dollar each

and we made about, 

a million billion dollars.

See how this is better 

than pretending that penguin

was our baby?