Dumb Girl
       

Do you want this precious baby? It can't grow
because it's a rock! It can't mitigate sand
with its slender fronds or ghost blooms because
it's a rock.

And now, I will tell you my secret. Nothing
and it eats rocks. It makes my fat hurt when I think
about it. Of course I'm fat I've got craft project
deformities and wet foam brain coral arranging
solar systems and nudity into topiaries.

This baby is a rock. Look, I'll sit it here on the grass
and it will fall over. That and the neighborhood dogs
painted like food onto the paper trees of every
life and pet the wall of neighbors I think with their
funny hats.

You move weird through here like a sticky root
of organized void you grew in incubators
where it learned to laugh, speak and remember things
about incubators and how to grow things
from rocks like perfect trees or planetary dogs.

Ballooning ether, kidneys, cartilage and babies
in the grass with their rhizome shape
and shiny object of the riot
and look! I can make animals out of my very own
gourds! I think my baby likes you. Where are you going?
Where is he going? I don't have what's in his head.
Me and the baby don't have what's in his head.

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Copyright © 2012 Lissa Cattrone All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission