F.H. Broxton: Enough Clay

Spring '07 TOC

When they molded you
A new arm
Dimpled chin
Was there any left for me
Stored away in refrigerated plastic
Awaiting the next repair?

They already asked!
My mother, her mother,
My adopted mother is dead.
I have no samples to give.

What of the scraps from
Forming your eyes
The shavings from
Your smile?

Go see if there’s any extra
Some not yet mixed
Reserved for the holy of holies.

A woman held my hand
Assuring me that all would be alright             

She lied

She never told me
I would lose you in chunks of liver
Feel you when you’d gone
Sanctuaries would dissipate in my dreams

Conventional ovens would never revive you...

She never told me
My lungs weren’t strong enough to
Scream you back

Please, go and ask if there’s extra
Beg a portion for me.

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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