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for the 21st century


K.R. Morrison



A woman is a labyrinth a molotov cocktail

tucked in her bones are portals
waiting to teach her
and her lover lessons

that are naked, dripping.

An excavation into her is an exorcism

what memories in her flesh

to exhume, what to leave
alone, buried in peace.
What to bite without swallowing

without choking

on her ghosts, intruding.

Last night I made love to the moon she whispered

into the braids of my hair

that my terrain has changed
my thin skin is stronger, aging obsidian
I got cypress trees growing
from assault’s cemeteries

inside of me.

In my bed I become a moon He becomes a forest

we invoke the Indian sea
make avalanches listen, down
his mouth
I tumble

into a labrynth
from where
his poems come, from his lungs
quetzals fly, their feathers made of razorblades

Where my cuts are born I hear freedom fighters promise

there’s another world
where finally, I can breathe

when he sinks into me
a world where I can truly make love

a world where falling
into my wounds is safe

a heroine’s journey.

K.R. MORRISON is a Bay Area poet who splits her time between San Francisco and a place she calls Mermaid Town. Her first chapbook, “Cauldrons” was published by PaperPress books.