the morning comes in a take-out container
& in the kitchen the bugs are already planning
what radio signals they want to send
to my head today. when i was little
our fridge was a worship den.
gods of grapes & milk. we watched
as everything holy emptied &
the whale carcass sat in the room
until next week. i want to be proud
of something. once, i went to a bible study class
for a boy i liked. i don't know what i was thinking
but all the men talked over the girls
& they were gushing about how terrible
pride was & all i could think about
was how much more proud i wanted to be
to spite them. i want my life hung
on the fridge of a biblically accurate angel.
with all his/her eyes she/he would say,
"here was someone with an extra face."
now we just have memories as magnets.
your grandfather. fragments of words
often arranged yet again by the bugs.
what i really want is to crawl inside.
how you ever been truly in love with yourself?
i was briefly for the first time this year.
i threw a stone at a mirror
to see it shatter. all my teeth
in the fragments. i was so beautiful.
even the bugs agreed. i asked,
"does this mean i am free?" they laughed
& crawled all over the fridge door.
"not so fast," they laughed.