A Poem by Rachel Geraci

Many, there are,
interactions between
states to underestimate
this fallacy
of once being partnered
up and away.

And suppose you are
never to do such again—
you will not liken yourself
anymore to a perking-pecker or
some flighty-finch of
two pinch. Two pence.

Still there is
a fledgling thought birthed
inside your egg-white
that maybe pussy-pink
will come and do me in

and feed me the storybook
life, a gift to write
spoon it into my mouth,
gross as infant spew,
about as useful as a writhing worm
to you.

Here: forgotten and trite.
Never measure me
against your ring and its
sanctioned solidarity.
I shrink away from your love-nest,
cold and lonely.

How many hands have you
since had inside you?
One, or maybe two,
it doesn’t matter who!
Reach inside me next,
then fly down, emptiness.

Reality could be so
lofty and dainty, to lift
if I had a simple-sexual,
life-to-death wish.
A supple blossom palm made
for another cheek.

And say I were to find you
fluttering alongside me,
a weathered winding road
of a blessèd academy?
Why can’t I sing for you?
Now! Why can’t I speak!

Black brooding eyes meet
this gun draws neon.
See me, the girl
who bombs begs burns and bleeds!
We are two birds of a feather,
now un-matching!

Does this mean the fates
again laugh heartily?
A lovelorn melody,
fancy flights one, two, three,
and every falling feather
is bound to crush me.

Rachel Geraci is a burgeoning poet from Pittsburgh, PA, where she attends Chatham University and has been published numerous times in their creative writing magazine, The Minor Bird. She continues to be inspired by beautiful people trapped inside the inevitable tumbling of tumultuous interaction.

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