the digestion of my body from the basement.

the steps to the basement
make me feel small-- 
i hold 
onto the railing like the hem
of my mother's 
purple lilac print 
skirt on a sunday-- 
we walk into the diner--
i order the same bagel with
ham, egg, and cheese--
only eat half because
i'm not big enough to bite
my way through the
empty space at the 
center of a bagel-- 
i gnaw on an end until
ketchup cuts open my white
dress like we all knew it
would-- chew
me into the house's
crinkle of intestine--
hear each wall swallow air--
push fat gulps of blood
through the pipes--
this is where the monster draws 
her blood--
fresh from the earth-- 
from the soil--
bubble freckles of 
white and green mold--
the basement wears mildew like
lace-- startles the rats 
with the hunger
that clatters each
femur-- each ringing clavicle--
the assonance of
your lips turned your
intestines into a sonnet--
who taught the house to 
make her body into a percussion 
instrument--
like all women 
she has
been a percussion instrument
i watched my ears turn into
tambourine 
she had to swallow on each
step down--
play the cymbals left in
my ribs-- 
there is no rhythm 
to being digested--
only the hollow mouth of
the tympani calling
louder
louder
louder
the stairs to the basement
unfurl 
into a sandpaper tongue--
scratch and slide
onto the cement floor
where her stomach is
cold and viscous 
with the scent of spilled 
laundry soap
and dried clothing
churning, burning, yearning
in the knots
of her body--
can't you hear her bones?
don't you listen to her body?
she is trying to make
a song from her blood
and her bones with all
these humans trapped
inside-- 
blue wires knot her veins--
she pours herself to
wash the ketchup stains
out of that white dress 
again 
and again 
and it's never stopped bleed--
from the floor
of the basement 
the house takes me into herself--
swallows hard like dry
white Women's vitamins--
i hold onto 
the wall like the hem of my
mother's purple lilac print
skirt-- come out with a fist
full of dried flowers
that smell
thick as
laundry soap-- 
wrinkle my white dress
like the flush of intestines--
the house is consuming
me with each foot
step down the basement stairs--
and I couldn't ask for
anything more--
she knows we love only
with the blood
we steal from the soil
and wash out of
the scars in a white dress.