by Leah Mueller
Strip from bone
and evaporate
to wherever
the dried blood goes.
Memories seethe:
your abrupt assault,
your terrified love.
Bulbous digits,
teeth in a sawdust box
embossed with
an Indian’s head.
Wishbone and sage.
You always said
I talked too much,
though my voice
never reached very far.
I pretend you were kind,
pretend you wanted our child.
Your father’s
heart attack, then yours.
That boy with curls
becomes your son,
left alone while you sleep.
Leah Mueller is an indie writer and spoken word performer from Tacoma, Washington. She is the author of two chapbooks and four books. Her latest book, a memoir entitled “Bastard of a Poet” was published by Alien Buddha Press in June, 2018. Leah’s work appears in Blunderbuss, The Spectacle, Outlook Springs, Crack the Spine, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, and other publications. She was a featured poet at the 2015 New York Poetry Festival, and a runner-up in the 2012 Wergle Flomp humor poetry contest.