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River Ice Mistaken

out of mouths of rivers    babes are thrashing red-faced     suckling
marrow from    mother’s bones lips furl over mossy teeth milking
her raw flooding the best minds of our generation swallowing spit
up and dribbling howls from strangers     this is what the river
thinks of mothering: starving & naked    hysteria strung like
Christmas lights    this is what the river thinks of your body
starving & naked: hysterical as you lift my dress above my arms &
bathe me in waters that for so long called me by another name    (I
wasn’t born by the river I don’t go down to pray)   I stand on the
shore beating back blue water thick with magenta regret     legs
numb below the knee  stiff from river ice    into your mouth I step
stone-tied weightless silt-swallowed your fingertips leave scars on
my skin in the shape of Allen Ginsberg’s spit you were born
cradled in the crease of your mother’s neck I was born to untangle
her voice from your father’s fist my dress settles on the rocks tells
me you’re madder than I am your hollowness traces my name in
rug burns this river is starving I milk hysteria from termite eggs
this river knows nothing of sacrifice it’s nothing but ice mistaken

The Psychic Told Me to Stay Away from Dark Magic 

But I’d follow your voice into the river
swim naked with the ghosts of your pretty mouth
& in that wretched beauty
think up all the ways I could haunt you
my creak quiet in your bones
every wound a separate introduction
a wish to hear the soft-speak of voice
the gentle cry of knowing what is love
if not swallowed breath
 
In October the lights shine green
I want to tell you to find a girl
break her heart, forget
my witch-girl bones: the soft pleading
stretched before you all shapeless
warmth. You said
I could have told you you were magic
& at that time I could have told you
I believed in burning

Hauntings

threadbare howls anchor canyons of desert ghost fire/inside your
breath stings ruin/these are my wounds gouged hollow for
you/scraped of color and crimson-clotted/I have swallowed every
inch of Indian summer/bloomed marigold monsters born
broken/doctor this wretched belly pale and swollen/until it echoes
barren/watch my new hollow feast on fingers birth gunfire/seek
absolution/lap bathwater raw find holiness harvested in blood-
demons from my uterus/I’ve known you as I’ve known mile
markers and road kill/blood-matted bone madness, stretched for
miles/I’ve known hauntings/violations that licked me rabid

Purr

I spoke in verse all wrangled brightness
conceived the space between your fingers    
a home to grow honey-happy & I am not sorry
in all that fabulous truth of you I found in your mouth  
a reckoning waiting for the color language leaks quiet          
your ugliness bears shadows I never noticed             
oh to be loved by you while useless
no longer cage-bright but broken
now I’m asking how many
licks it takes to ruin your own life
now I’m teaching how I burn
belly hair nuzzled between my teeth
thigh-plastered-daydream-grown-man-want
denim stiff in my general direction
I watch as you suckle, mouth on tit
you suckle-suckle-spit wood chips
I am not sorry that in my breast
you found the charred timber heart
of a stake-burnt witch
rope-burn lungs blistered ribs
I’ll swallow every splinter you cough up
leave you bone-dry and pleading
my quiet will animal you
my animal will beckon


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Lena Ziegler is an editor and co-founder of the literary journal The Hunger. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Western Kentucky University and is pursuing her PhD in Rhetoric and Writing at Bowling Green State University. She was a finalist in the Autumn House Press 2018 Fiction Contest and the 2018 GoldLine Press Non-fiction Chapbook contest. Her work has appeared in Dream Pop Press, Yes, Poetry, The Seventh Wave, Gambling the Aisle, Red Earth Review, Miracle Monocle, The Flexible Persona, Anti-Heroin Chic, Literary Orphans, Indiana Review, Split Lip and others.
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