For Arms - Poem by Braden Coucher
He touched her when she was unripe
thirteen. He was twenty-one
On a movie set,
Gone with the wind.
And she was Scarlet between
Her tiny ears and shaking thighs.
Today she’s twenty-one and airily
Remembers his line, her que
“And you, miss, are no lady.”
Gone with the Wind
His name and touch
Now memories of mammaries,
Bulimic thin and lesbian,
Vane and vomiting in shame
Because he touched her when she was thirteen
And like I say, unripe.
In the scene they ate together.
now she eats alone,
Remembers his forking hands
And her own, Reservoirs for blood-
honestly like sour Pomegranate in hue.
That puts her to sleep like just after Thanksgiving
when you've had too much and can only watch
the Wizard of Oz or snowy games on TV.
But night terrors come in fours
Just as the four from digging
In her forearms with forks.
He’s twenty-nine now and feeds his daughter, spoons in hand
She’s twenty-one and
Spoons a woman because she knows she can.
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