The rant and alienation of lemon bars baked too long
cracks forming bright yellow corridors
medical and psychological hell
running down a hallway, paper bracelet torn on the corner of metal
inner oscillates to outer letters someone has read
no longer private willingly lowering the veil of anonymity
a label with dates and dialogue
what my mother never told me.
Poetry of abuse
character turned flesh and blood, searching
vignettes will work, unadorned, without a paddle to navigate
through the reeds
cornflakes and eggs in an ocean of white
powdered sugar stuck to moist lips—
where is my apron?
Biography, voice from within
eggwhite foam—
You
and
the lyric I
crust of flour, butter, and white sugar
cut with fingertips.
but can one person swallow enough trouble to slap it on the refrigerator door?
crumbs underneath,
I can see them.
The movie runs,
a list—
memoir.
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