TW: sexual assault His gaze appraises her meat seems quite sweet: apple butter stirred out of the sun in steady shade at 70 degrees all year 'round. Undamaged, well-preserved for his eyes, His eyes, because other men are not visible in the vicinity. Her eyes dance wildly away from his, but her view doesn't matter:…
Dragging arms under shadows of cedars, the string-torn marionette finds comfort in the darkness of webbed branches blocking lunar spotlights from shouting her position: here, knee inverted like a bird, there, arm twisted behind back, now, neck at ninety degrees, then, spine stretched under split legs. But all the pain of twisted threads is worth…
About That Ugly Girl: “She’ll certainly never charm A boy’s eye or be asked to prom. She’ll never hear the words I do And have a partner by her side. She’ll never know the touch Of love from a soul mate’s arms. Poor thing, look at her face… Oh, isn’t she pathetic?” They don’t…
I am the goddess left alive, daughter of Cronus tortured by hardened hands because he could. Rhea saved her son. Couldn't bother with me. I had to wait for Zeus to grow up and save first our swallowed siblings. Those years were an eternity. An eternity of cheeks torn shiny red raw from calloused flesh arrows. An eternity of lying…
My mother was a bird long of neck, wading in slate waters and afraid to fly a gray choking sky peppered with cracking snaps shot off by a Browning Gold 10. Those wingless aliens had no home in the wood, appeared in deafening shells no hermit crab could conceive, and wielded such branches that splintered,…
National Poetry Writing Month
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 