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
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.