
My heart is a clothing bag
stashed in the closet of a stranger’s land.
The hung costumes attack.
Treguna Mekoides and Trecorum Satis Dee,
my culture stabs instead of grasps.
Childhood was a slow dredge
on a fluted tin washboard.
Once I rode a chariot of soapy clouds
among roaring ocean crowds,
a schoolgirl steaming wrinkles from a dream.
Walked on the water the day of my wedding,
virginity sinking in the heavy scent
of dirty satin bedding,
my legs, a tangled updo
of sanctified placental seaweed.
Womanhood is for warriors, though.
Try adventuring with one foot free.
A sailboat readied
while the other foot anchors,
the other foot begs, Mommy!
the other foot buries itself
below the blood-drenched sand
until the coat hanger latches
and the heart attacks
in the closet of a stranger’s land.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
Artwork: ‘Memory the Heart” Frida Kahlo
I think this one still needs some polishing so any advice is most welcome.





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