We Are the Repositories
       

Deep in the meat of chis chewed up dogball   your amygdala
a tangle of grunts and turns   blindloops crammed

into this pair of shrivelled almonds between a rock and a hard place
between prefrontal cortex and hippocampus   dense like gravity   taut

like the windings of golfball innards   back and forth
across suburban streets   loop after loop of rubber strand stretched

from tree to tree in the spirit of fun   just to see
what would happen   unsuspecting drivers asleep

at the wheel   oblivious behind shatterproof glass   ambushed
by the skirl of rubber band   its blowback

by a thing you'd best forgotten   thought you had   the smell of talcum
powder   cardamom and clove   five hummed notes "Killing Me Softly"

you can't quite remember the words   a warm tomato   pink peach
over a kitchen sink   chin dripping juice   sun through small

streaked window   lacy white curtain in a breeze   laughter
you almost recognize   a tone of voice   an inflection   I've heard that some

where   a cap on the back of a chair   "Leaves of Grass"   its spine crumpled
on a basement bookshelf   newspages flapping in a tree

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Copyright © 2020 Laura Zacharin All rights reserved
from Common Brown House Moths
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Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission