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When I was a girl you licked the inside
of me watermelon rind clean
And left nothing but bitterness
And fruit flies that multiplied
And wouldn’t leave
And the sticky paper that we hung up
Caught nothing but me,
A hunk of meat, and scavengers that
came to feast
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
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Comments (2)
Oh, RC, the torment you evoke echoes across the entirety of your poem, your metaphors accomplishing more with imagery than any explicit description possibly could. Simply stunning writing!
Ooof. I don’t even know what to say. Just. Wow