Preservative Woman

they’re
therein my thin coat of air
i ride a puddle
poke poke poking
a stick connects my belly
to oil-blossom water
near
all the pretty girls
i want to be
all shoulders
hair-tossed whispers
name bony boys
peering from pebbled places
for training bra straps
as they squeeze slimy tongues
from mucus mouths
but in the mud
i am a throwback
a cave girl
a flake of flint in my hand
i draw what i hunt
bison
elk
a mammoth i once helped skin
all the pretty people
i am not
listen
their words
screw me in a jar
with chloroform-soaked cotton
listen
their syllables
peel each layer of my skin
spit bubble thin
until i am left pinned to cork
each component of my body
called out with labels
neatly typed
my gears still whirring
grinding in starts
springs unwinding
fluids leaking on blotter paper
from
a rubber kick
so pretty
my hands shattering mud
oh
such girls
to have as friends
i
think

there
there
(Edited version of “osmotic pressure”, a poem written for CombatWords on February 25, 2011)

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