Greetings Six Sunday Readers! The following excerpt is from my poem, “Morta de Merda”, which will appear in the upcoming issue of “Onthebus”. As always, thank you for your visit, and enjoy your upcoming week.
I cut open my mother’s heart and found nothing but stone, engraved with the names of everyone ‘cept me.
Mahler’s orchestra – they live in my head and pay two dollars fifty cents lodging per night, though I do charge tax on weekends – plays the aria my chimpanzee wrote as my mother lies high atop the canopy of crab apple leaves in the orchard behind her house.
I sharpen my talon and cleave into her ruby blood. The brandy soaked paws of my cock-a-poo float by, along with the broken tap shoes worn by curly haired girls who should have been me and all the mother’s day, father’s day, birthday, Christmas, and arbor day gifts she never unwrapped.
I build my mother an appendix of spinach and feta cheese, slice open her right side, and attach it with silver filament spun by the black widow who lives at my window.
I release a Baccarat butterfly from her mouth then staple it shut with big blue clamps so she can tell my secrets no more.
For more Six Sentence Sunday reads, please visit: http://www.sixsunday.com/2010/11/six-sentence-sunday-11710.html