Jennifer E. Hudgens
OPOSSUM
alarms go off, tornado sirens gurgle. paint brush split ends feel
Pain is the nature of being, asking itself to bruise.
like bones splintering, as if they could finally escape my skin.
I don’t chase.
It feels like nothing sometimes. Not my hands or blood. Centuries
live inside my knuckles.
Come home, before it’s too late.
it’s my laugh. Or my body. Skin. So much skin I have trouble keeping
it all quiet. Maybe it’s something in my mouth, you keep wading
I let it go like dollar store kites we flew during a lightning storm, once.
through molars. quiet & my tongue. Uselessness of time passing.
Pain is the nature of being, asking itself to bruise.
It feels like nothing sometimes. Not my hands or blood. Centuries
live inside my knuckles. a tiny, tattered possum that fell asleep in traffic.
Before I am bone dust &
quiet & my tongue. The uselessness of time passing.
I need to dream in order to feel alive.
a tiny, tattered possum that fell asleep in traffic. It's my laugh. Or my body.
Pain is the nature of being, asking itself to bruise.
Skin. So much skin I have trouble keeping it all quiet. Maybe it’s something
in my mouth, you keep wading through molars.
glittered on the streets of this
Truth is, I am tired of living (like this).
sulfuric scented city.
alarms go off, tornado sirens gurgle. Paint brush split ends feel
like bones splintering, as if they could finally escape my skin.
Pain is the nature of being, asking itself to bruise.
It feels like nothing, sometimes.
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