Hymn to Gluttony

by Karena Landler

 

With my child-bearing hands,

I imagine I could master that

cruel pull of ribs, apart

like fruit flesh stretching

& crackling

when those spindly rinds tear.

Tell them it’s eloquent,

the way my body and its curtains

would draw apart to stripes—

& even more pungent fruits inside,

so that I would see the waste of sweetness:

I could take my stomach in my bare hands,

drag it behind me down the main street real doglike & everyone

(the sun and the moon and the concerned neighbors)

can giggle at its pinkish sheen.

My chemical lullaby of corrosives.

My handbag full of all my pretty things.

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