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39 Degrees
A gaping mouth in my refrigerator,
The big
Mackinaw
sunken eyes,
I could not
eat it all
perfect circles
Tomorrow I
will throw out the rest
in its sideways face
for the
garbage men to take away.
The pink flesh flaked sweetly
I hoard my
abundance
off the narrow bones
I want my
fair share
bones like needles.
I stare
at the ceiling, suffocated
by the man’s heavy kisses building
on my lips,
my forehead,
my blank eyes. He wants me
to be what he needs
to fill himself in.
I have nothing to share.
He picks
for what he needs
but cannot take me all,
throws out the rest.
The fish, its stiff body arched,
forty-eight hours, a black
garbage bag
Expectations :
how we fail each other
stares through the door at me.
the fish,
the
fisherman,
the lake,
the lover,
and
I
In its deepest parts, the lake maintains
a prehistoric 39
degrees. Watch out!
“Don’t get in over your head”
I want my fair
share.
This is a poverty : hoarding abundance
Karen Terrey
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